


These Unfortunate Affairs

by Ms_Pimprenelle



Series: These Unfortunate Affairs [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Series of Regency whodunnit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-02-02 23:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 74,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12736413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Pimprenelle/pseuds/Ms_Pimprenelle
Summary: A series of one-shots following Mr Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet's inquiries.





	1. Case 1 - Miss Bingley Is Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have any idea of the length of this story, nor when I will have finished it. Half a dozen chapters have been written for now, and as many are still being developped. I’ll post once in a while, probably without any regularity. That being said, each chapter is meant to be read as a separate very short story. As for the rating, though I tried to have this light-hearted, it still deals with unpalatable stuff, so I thought it better to stay on the safe side.

**Netherfield, morning of Saturday 16 November**  
  
“Miss Bingley is dead!”  
  
Elizabeth Bennet froze on hearing the whisperings of the maids. Obviously, she must have let out some sound, since the girls stopped speaking and looked at her in embarrassment before scurrying away. Dawn was breaking, but Elizabeth was still in her dinner clothes, for she had been tending to her sister Jane who had been ill again that night. Thankfully, the crisis appeared to be over, and Elizabeth hoped they would be able to go back home as early as Sunday. If Jane had not had a relapse, she would even have considered leaving today, and if the titbit of gossip she just heard was accurate, they would have to do that in any case. For now, she had to refresh herself and rang for a maid to change into something suitable for the morning.  
  
“I believe I saw you earlier today in the hall,” she said as the girl was buttoning her dress. On hearing a mumbled answer that might have been a confirmation of her thoughts, she went on. “I could not help but hear what was said …”  
  
“Oh, ma’am, it’s truly dreadful! Molly went to tend to the fire in Miss Bingley’s room this morning, but she knocked the poker set over, and it made such a ruckus that she was sure the lady had woken up! But then she heard nothing, so she was about to leave, and then Vincent rushed up into the room!”  
  
“Vincent?”  
  
“Miss Bingley’s lady’s maid. She told poor Molly off and then went to check on her mistress, and then she had a fit and told her to fetch Mr Bingley and Mrs Hurst quick, ma’am.”  
  
“Is the apothecary already with her?”  
  
“He would not be of any help, ma’am. Molly, she listened at the door—Miss Bingley kicked the bucket. She was already cold.”  
  
When Elizabeth was ready, she slipped out of her room and made her way to Jane's, her lips set in a grim line. It would be best if they could leave Netherfield today, and she had resolved to write and send two notes as soon as possible: one to Mr Jones in order to ascertain that Jane could bear travelling without risking her health too much and the other to her parents, requesting the carriage to be sent. After some hesitation, she decided against including the terrible news in her letter, for after all, her host had not imparted the news himself yet, and it would not do to be to the origin of gossip. If her mother were more sensible, she might have included it, but alas, she was not, and entrusting her with the news meant it would be all over Meryton before two hours had passed.  
  
Jane was still sleeping and seemed to have recovered better than Elizabeth had expected, thus she hoped that she would be able to travel home that very afternoon. If the situation had been different, she would rather have stayed until such a time when Jane felt better still, but given the present circumstances, she thought that they should leave as soon as possible so that Mr Bingley and the Hursts could grieve undisturbed by guests. In all probability, Mr Darcy would not linger either.   
  
After having ensured her sister was comfortable, Elizabeth took aside the maid who had been taking care of her sister.  
  
“You are aware, I presume, of the event which occurred last night—about Miss Bingley.”  
  
“Yes ma’am.”  
  
“Such news would upset my sister greatly, and I want to tell her myself. Under no circumstances are you to disclose any of this to her. When she wakes up, send for me.”  
  
The maid nodded. Elizabeth sat at a table to write her notes then departed the room quietly. Once she was downstairs she gave the butler her missives and asked him to dispatch them at once then went to the library. On entering that room, she encountered Mr Darcy. After they exchanged greetings, he returned to his book while she settled with one of her own.   
  
Some time later, a footman entered the room with a message from her mother; she wrote her that the horses could not be spared before Tuesday. Elizabeth let go an annoyed sigh and, when she looked up from her letter, met Mr Darcy's inquisitive gaze. Her annoyance grew at the idea he had found another thing about her to criticise.  
  
“You did not receive any bad news from home, I hope?”  
  
Surprised to be wrong, she did not think before answering him.  
  
“Thank you for your concern—but no, not really. It is only that I asked for the carriage, for we cannot impose on Mr Bingley's hospitality any longer. However, my mother writes we shall have to wait, for the horses cannot be spared. I should send another note explaining the situation better; I did not write much in the first one.”  
  
“It would be quicker to arrange for Bingley’s carriage to drive you back to Longbourn. I surmise you have heard of the sad news?" At her nod, he went on. "I also feel _de trop_ here and had thought to go back to London or, at the very least, to a local inn. It would be no inconvenience to see you home before going on my way.”  
  
“Thank you, sir. I ... allow me to say that I am also sorry for your loss.” As he seemed surprised she added, “Was not the lady a friend of yours?”  
  
He sighed. “She was mostly the sister of my friend—but yes, we were on friendly terms. Poor Miss Bingley.”  
  
“Yes,” said Elizabeth. “To leave this world so young, before her time ...”  
  
“Before her time indeed,” nodded Darcy. “I should not be surprised if the apothecary was to suspect something was amiss.”  
  
Elizabeth started and looked at her companion. He was gazing absently at the window, frowning. He had voiced such a surprising opinion that, after some hesitation, she spoke again.  
  
“Do you think that she could have been … that someone could have had a hand in her death?”  
  
Darcy nodded again. “I cannot know for certain, but I believe there is something not right there.”  
  
“But who could have wanted her death?”  
  
“A fair number of people,” Darcy smiled faintly. “I dare say there is not one person under this roof who does not benefit from her demise.”  
  
“Sir!”  
  
He shrugged. “She was annoying, rude and taxed everyone's patience.”  
  
“But this is not reason enough to ... to _kill_ someone!” Elizabeth was aghast. “Why, if it were the case, I should have orchestrated your demise long ago!”  
  
He started and looked at her with no little disbelief. She thought he was about to say something, but instead he shook his head and turned towards the window again.  
  
“I find myself at a loss,” he said after a couple of minutes. “I should like to call for the magistrate, and yet ... I do not know what I should tell him.”  
  
“Maybe you could wait for Mr Jones to come and confirm your suspicion before alerting Mr Knowles," she answered, barely refraining from rolling her eyes.  
  
“Perhaps I should. I shall send word to him now.”  
  
“I already had a note sent, for I wished him to check on Jane, but warning him about Miss Bingley should ensure he will have all the things he could need for his examination close at hand.”  
  
“Then I shall write another note at once. Meanwhile, perhaps you should check whether your sister has awakened and gently tell her the news. I do not know her well, but I heard her being described as a kind-hearted young lady; this might come as a shock for her.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded and left the room.  
  
Jane was awake and somewhat better, but the news of Miss Bingley's demise affected her strongly. Still, Elizabeth decided that, barring contradictory instructions from Mr Jones, they would depart that day. She helped her sister to dress accordingly and had a footman apprise Mr Darcy of their plans; she had just finished packing when she received word that the gentleman was also ready to leave and that they would go as soon as the apothecary gave his approval.  
  
**Longbourn, late morning, Saturday**  
  
Mr Jones had judged that Jane could go home provided she was dressed warmly enough, and after having said their goodbyes and extended their condolences to Mr Bingley and Mr and Mrs Hurst, the two sisters and Mr Darcy took their places in Mr Bingley's chaise. When they arrived at Longbourn, Mr Darcy helped the two young women to alight; they entered the house arm in arm, the gentleman trailing behind.   
  
Elizabeth did not lose time and walked as quickly as she could, for Jane felt uneasy and was in need of bed-rest. As she was ascending the stairs, she wondered at Mr Darcy's presence in the house. That he had not stopped in Meryton on their way to Longbourn could be explained by the necessity to bring Jane home without delay, but why, once that had been accomplished, did he not go back? Perhaps he merely wished to apprise her father of what had befallen their neighbours.   
  
Once Elizabeth and Jane had disappeared, Mr Darcy had indeed asked the housekeeper to lead him to Mr Bennet. The master of Longbourn was reading when his visitor was announced. After greetings were exchanged, he could not hide his surprise.  
  
“This is quite unexpected—if anything, I should have expected Mr Bingley on my doorstep. Is there anything you wish to share with me?”  
  
Darcy sighed. “Actually, there is—I fear Mr Bingley will not be making social calls anytime soon, sir.”  
  
A raised eyebrow—strongly reminiscent of his second daughter—was his only answer.  
  
“Miss Bingley has passed away. She seemed in good health yesterday evening; Mr Jones was still determining what caused her death when we left. I suspect foul play. In any case, this is a dreadful time for my friend.”  
  
Mr Bennet nodded and, since it was an occasion on which a witty word would not be welcomed, kept silent. On seeing his visitor did not seem ready to leave him in peace, he spoke again.  
  
“Was there something else you wished to impart, sir?”  
  
“Given the circumstances, it would not do for me to stay at Netherfield. I first planned to go back to London, but, as I told you, I believe there is something not quite right with this death. Consequently, I should like to be still in the neighbourhood while the first investigations are conducted.”  
  
“Do you wish for an assessment of the local inns? I doubt any of them would be satisfying for your exacting standards,” Mr Bennet said, and he smirked on seeing the younger man scowl.  
  
“Or,” he continued, “if you do not mind the company of the silliest girls in all England, you are welcome at Longbourn for as long as you need to assuage your curiosity. Be warned—you will not be the only guest, for my heir will join us shortly.”  
  
"I am grateful for your offer, sir, but I do not want to inconvenience you."  
  
"On the contrary, I suspect your presence will do me a lot of good, for I fear my cousin is sadly lacking in sense."  
  
At that moment, a knock was heard at the door, and Elizabeth came in after being bidden to enter.  
  
“Lizzy! How are you there? I thought you were still at Netherfield, nursing your sister. Your mother must have written that we could not spare the horses.”  
  
“She has,” she confirmed. “Mr Bingley kindly lent us and Mr Darcy his equipage.”  
  
Mr Bennet frowned. “How is your sister faring?”  
  
“I fear that the journey, short as it was, has exhausted her. She is resting now, and I hope she will be well soon, as long as she does not exert herself too much.”  
  
"Good. Will you kindly tell our mother that we shall have a guest today?"  
  
"A guest?"  
  
"Mr Darcy will be staying at Longbourn for some days."  
  
Elizabeth, unhappy that she would not be rid of his presence, glanced at the seated gentleman as she left the room and made her way to the parlour, where she met her mother. Mrs Bennet was displeased that they had come home so soon, and was sure that Jane would have caught cold again, no matter the precautions that had been taken. When Elizabeth explained the circumstances of their removal, another litany of complaints was heard, for mourning his sister would prevent Mr Bingley from making Jane an offer anytime soon. Moreover, Mrs Bennet was unhappy to host Mr Darcy.  
  
"And the guest room is not ready for use yet! What was Mr Bennet thinking!"  
  
At that moment, the gentlemen entered the drawing room.  
  
"There is no need to unsettle your nerves over this. Jane is still unwell, and Lizzy will want to check on her regularly; she will stay in her room. Mr Darcy will go in Lizzy’s room. If the guest room is made ready for Monday, it will be early enough, do you not agree, Mr Darcy?"  
  
Not understanding why Mr Bennet seemed so intent on hiding from his wife the knowledge of an additional guest's arrival that day, the gentleman could only nod curtly, and it did not endear him to the ladies of the house. As a result, Mrs Bennet stopped considering making apologies to Mr Darcy for not giving him her best room. Having him invade Elizabeth's for two days seemed a fitting punishment for her second eldest, and her anger at her decision to leave Netherfield in the morning abated somewhat, while the young lady's resentment of Mr Darcy only grew.  
  
That evening in Jane’s room at Longbourn, Elizabeth fretted over her sister, fearing that her night would be as uncomfortable as the previous one had been.  
  
“Worry not, Lizzy. I have taken a few drops of laudanum, and it should help me to settle.”  
  
“You had some yesterday night, but it did not do you any good!”  
  
“I had not, Lizzy. I ... did without. Truly, I shall be well.”  
  
Jane was falling asleep and Elizabeth did not press her, but she herself felt wide awake. She wondered first why Jane had not taken the medicine. Shrugging it off, she then thought again about Miss Bingley’s fate. There _was_ laudanum in the house. Could someone have slipped some to her? Elizabeth was then idly wondering whether Mr Darcy could have orchestrated Miss Bingley’s death in order to get rid of her attentions and spoken his doubts aloud only in order to deflect any suspicion from him should foul play be suspected, when sleep claimed her at last.  
  
**Longbourn, Monday, at breakfast**  
  
On the previous day, Mr Darcy’s presence at the Bennet pew did not go unnoticed. People had restrained themselves during the services, but once those were over, the churchyard had been abuzz with gossip. When the news from Netherfield had been shared and confirmed by Mr Jones’s sister, the discussions had increased in volume. Darcy hoped, rather than believed, that this day would be quieter. He was proven wrong as they all settled for breakfast.  
  
“I hope you will have the guest room ready for today,” said Mr Bennet for his wife.  
  
“Of course I have! Not much could be done yesterday, but I cannot leave Mr Darcy in Lizzy’s room forever.”  
  
“I am afraid he will have to stay longer, for we shall have someone else staying with us.”  
  
“Who can it be, Mr Bennet? One of your university friends?”  
  
“No, my dear. He is a gentleman and a stranger.”  
  
Mrs Bennet frowned. Her husband continued. “Mr Collins, who will inherit this house should something happen to me, has expressed the wish to mend the fences his father had broken. He will arrive today, in time for tea.”  
  
“And you tell me this only now? Oh, Mr Bennet!”  
  
Mrs Bennet’s agitation did not cease for the whole day; it was not only due to the fact she had to welcome yet another unplanned guest, nor to the fact that she was prepared to dislike the second even more than the first. After breakfast, she took Elizabeth aside.  
  
“I am sorry, child. Had I known, I should not have dislodged you!”  
  
“Worry not, Mamma, I am perfectly content to share rooms with Jane.”   
  
“Still! I was angry with you for coming home early and thought two days of having to lend your room to that disagreeable man would be punishment enough. I never wished for it to go on for longer than that!”  
  
“Do not distress yourself over it,” soothed Elizabeth. “Truly, I do not mind so much. I am content to be with Jane.”  
  
Thus reassured, Mrs Bennet went on to complain about other household matters and how her nerves were taxed by the situation. Elizabeth watched her go with a resigned smile. As for Mr Darcy, he had already retreated with Mr Bennet to that gentleman’s book-room. Elizabeth hoped that the mysterious cousin would more often plague Mr Darcy than seek to entertain her or her sisters. If he was half as foolish as his letter foretold, only Jane might be patient enough to bear with him.  
  
**Longbourn Gardens, Tuesday morning**  
  
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy were walking side by side, basking in Mr Collins’s absence. That gentleman had been as foolish as his letter had foretold, and his long-winded discourses difficult to tune out.  
  
“I hope,” said Mr Darcy, “that your cousin is a late riser.”  
  
Elizabeth giggled. Darcy straightened and scowled. “I do not see any humour in this, Miss Bennet.”  
  
That haughty glare again! She refrained to roll her eyes. “He is at least three times as annoying as Miss Bingley ever was. Any doubts I had about your innocence are lifted now.”  
  
He smiled slightly. “You are impossible.”  
  
She shrugged. “Do you mind if we go to Meryton? I should like to call on my aunt, and ... I should rather not ... I should like to ...”  
  
“Avoid your cousin if he were already about?” he finished with a smirk. “I like that scheme. Perhaps you could devise a way of having your sisters join us without being seen by Mr Collins?”  
  
In the end, with the help of Mrs Hill, the remaining Misses Bennet were made aware of the plan. Jane was still too weary for such an endeavour, and Mary, who always avoided what she called disproportionate effort, volunteered to keep her company. Kitty and Lydia, however, escaped through the kitchen door, giggling and whispering to each other, delighted at the idea of having an opportunity to meet with the officers.  
  
Soon, the foursome was on the road to the town, the younger girls laughing in the front, and the other two walking more sedately at the back.  
  
When she was assured her sisters could not hear them, Elizabeth said:  
  
“Do you have any news of the case—or of your friend?”  
  
“I did not receive any since I went to Meryton the other day. I hope I can tell you more when we come back.”  
  
They were soon in Meryton, where they separated; Elizabeth hurried to join her sisters before they hailed any officer walking the street and Darcy went to pay a visit to Mr Jones.  
  
Kitty and Lydia had quickly run into Mr Denny, who had come back from London with a friend, who appeared to be nearly everything a young man ought to be. Their happiness was complete on learning that he had taken a commission in the regiment of the militia and would soon wear the same red coat as his friend.  
  
This meeting did not hold Elizabeth’s interest, for though she owned that Mr Wickham seemed to be an agreeable man and was certainly handsome, her mind was still mostly preoccupied with Mr Darcy's quest.  
  
At length she saw him exit Mr Jones’ practice and stride down the street, either with the intent to join them or with that of conversing with Mr Knowles.  
  
When he neared their group, he froze and barely nodded at them before he continued on his way. Elizabeth knew not what to think about his reaction. Her sisters, still giggling and admiring the officers, had not noticed anything; Mr Denny was as he ever was. Mr Wickham, however, seemed to have reddened and looked as if he had been unsettled by the sighting of Mr Darcy. Elizabeth yearned to learn more about this, but this would have to wait. She reminded her sisters about their avowed goal of visiting Mrs Philips, and the young men proposed to accompany them, which they did before going back to their duties.  
  
Their aunt Philips was happy to see them and, after having heard Kitty and Lydia sing the praises of the officers, invited her nieces to a card party she had planned for the morrow and to which she had invited the officers. They were still thanking their aunt when Darcy was announced; Elizabeth was eager to be told what he had learned during his visits, and also owned to some curiosity regarding his acquaintance with Mr Wickham. But none of those subjects were suitable for conversation in the presence of her sisters and aunt. She hoped that Kitty and Lydia would be as absorbed by their conversation on the way back home as they had been when they came. Meanwhile, at his request, she introduced Darcy to her aunt. Upon learning that he was now, due to the Bingleys' mourning, a guest at Longbourn, Mrs Philips extended the invitation to the card party to him—and to all the young people that were currently in the household, for her nieces had also told her of their cousin's presence. That did not sit well with Elizabeth, for she had been looking forward an evening spent without Mr Collins; she did not attempt to conceal her frustration.  
  
Soon afterwards they were on their way back to Longbourn, the younger girls skipping ahead and sharing gossip as they had done earlier. The other two walked behind, but this time Darcy had not offered his arm to Elizabeth. He threw her a glance now and then. Elizabeth knew not what to make of that, and was about to enquire after his meetings when he spoke.  
  
“I could not help but noticing that you were displeased when I accepted your aunt's invitation for tomorrow.”  
  
“Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”  
  
“Why would you have scowled if not for that reason?”  
  
“Did you realise that Mr Collins was also included in the invitation?” She was scowling again.  
  
“I shall shield you from him if you wish,” he said with a smile.  
  
“How gallant of you,” she answered with a huff. “But let us not speak of my cousin any longer: do not leave me in suspense, what did you learn this morning?”  
  
“Mr Jones told me that she could have taken too much laudanum. Her maid had told him that Miss Bingley had complained about a headache and asked for a dose of it to help her sleep. The girl said that she gave her mistress a little more than what she asked, but not enough to cause her harm. I then went to see Knowles to determine whether he thought further inquiry was necessary, but the man’s hypothesis is that Miss Bingley took another dose by herself and died as a result.”  
  
They walked some minutes in silence, before Elizabeth spoke.  
  
“But you do not think it likely.”  
  
“No. She was clever; she would have known not to take such a risk. Mr Knowles, though, is reluctant to enquire further. He told me that if this was no accident, it might then be a suicide, and he would rather not give the family pain.”  
  
“Which is commendable,” she sighed. “Could you not try to learn more, since his inaction displeases you?”  
  
“You wish me to pry around and ask questions?”  
  
“Not necessarily yourself, sir;” she answered with a smile. “Given that you were a guest of Mr Bingley, I dare say your valet could easily acquire some information from his staff.”  
  
Darcy nodded, and they continued to walk in companionable silence.  
  
**Meryton, Wednesday evening**  
  
The seven young people had squeezed together in the Bennet carriage and arrived at Mrs Philips's house in a short time and without the dresses of the ladies having suffered too many wrinkles. While they waited for Mr Philips and the officers to join them, the ladies and Mr Darcy were subjected to Mr Collins's long-winded discourses, which only Mrs Philips seemed to appreciate.  
  
Elizabeth would have liked an opportunity to talk with Mr Darcy some more, but was prevented to do so by her cousin, who stubbornly continued to address Mr Darcy and praise his aunt to him. She hoped she would have more luck later, when the tables would be set, and was wandering the room when the gentlemen entered. She was stuck again by Mr Wickham's appearance and found herself surprised, but not wholly displeased, when he came to her side and engaged her in conversation. She had to admit that he was a delightful conversationalist; A glance from the corner of her eye showed her that Mr Darcy appeared displeased, but there was nothing she could do about it.  
  
The tables were forming, and Elizabeth saw with resignation that Mr Darcy, as well as Mr Collins and an officer, had been commandeered to play whist with her uncle. Wickham, though, did not play whist, and sat at the lottery table between her and Lydia. The charming officer inquired about their acquaintance with Darcy.  
  
"La! He's such a proud, disagreeable man! I did not think much about him until my father invited him to stay at Longbourn. But I dare say none of us hates him as much as Lizzy does!"  
  
Having said her piece, Lydia giggled and then focused on her lottery tickets. Wickham turned towards a blushing Elizabeth and enquired about the cause of her supposed dislike for Darcy. Elizabeth decided that she would have a greater chance to learn something of substance if she professed feelings that were not her own.  
  
"I fear Mr Darcy, by holding himself above the local people, has not endeared himself in the area. We spent some days under Mr Bingley's roof, and had more than one disagreement. Then our host's sister died, and Mr Darcy would not leave the area, though he did not want to impose on his friend. He did accompany us home, and my father felt obligated to offer him a room."  
  
"This is the cause for the particular dislike your sister alluded to?"  
  
"Oh, no," she smiled. "We all have our own room at Longbourn, which means that there is only one guest room. With both Mr Darcy and Mr Collins here, I have been dislodged which is, arguably, a disagreement."  
  
“And does familiarity make it easier to bear with Mr Darcy’s presence?”  
  
Elizabeth only shrugged in answer. The gentleman appeared to see that as encouragement, for he then shared with her the story of a denied inheritance that left Elizabeth somewhat doubtful; that doubt increased when, once his game was over, Mr Darcy sat at her other side and Mr Wickham’s countenance appeared more calculating than offended. She would have to ask their guest about the truthfulness of the tale. Maybe there _was_ a condition in the will that the young man did not fulfill.  
  
**Longbourn, Thursday 21 November**  
  
After breakfast, Darcy joined Elizabeth for a walk in the gardens. She was reasonably confident they would not be overheard and decided to ask him about his side of the story.  
  
“While we were playing yesterday, Mr Wickham had an interesting tale to share.”  
  
“Had he?” said Darcy, stiffening.  
  
“I am afraid it does not paint you in a good light.”  
  
“I should have been surprised if it had been otherwise.”   
  
Elizabeth glanced at her companion and rolled her eyes on seeing his frown.  
  
“You are not, I hope, entertaining the thought that I had believed him?”  
  
That seemed to improve his countenance markedly. “You have not?”  
  
“I may have,” she confessed, “if I did not know you better. However, we have been sufficiently in company for me to realise that you would never act in the dishonest way he says you did. I must conclude that you had a legitimate reason to refuse him that living, that he refuses to accept it, and that resentment has made him bitter.”  
  
“Thank you for your trust,” he said in a gentler voice. “What will you conclude if I say that he was the one who refused the living, was given three thousand pounds in compensation, an additional thousand, and came back to me a couple years later having spent it all and hoping the living would be available to him?”  
  
Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. After looking at Darcy in horror for some moments, she shook her head and resumed walking.  
  
“I should say such a man is lost to common decency and wonder that he had the effrontery to show up where you are.”  
  
Darcy shrugged.  
  
“I am not one to share my private dealings and do not make friends easily, whereas this is a talent of his. He must have counted on that.”  
  
“And Lydia told him I was particularly displeased with you. He must have thought I should easily listen to him,” mused Elizabeth.  
  
“Are you displeased with me?”  
  
“Of course not. Not any more. This was not the case in the beginning of our acquaintance, though, but it would have been childish of me to resent you forever because of a refusal to dance.”  
  
Darcy smiled, and they continued their walk, both appreciative of the calm they would lose as soon as they entered the house again.  
  
**Longbourn, Wednesday 27 November**  
  
Darcy had not learned much concerning Miss Bingley while he stayed at Longbourn. His valet had enquired, but learned nothing, and had even been shooed away by Netherfield’s housekeeper. Mr Bingley would return soon; he and the Hursts had gone north, for their sister was to be buried alongside their parents. They were to come back and spend the winter at Netherfield, though Darcy did not know whether his friend would renew the lease. Given the bad memories associated with the house, this seemed doubtful.   
  
Having word that his friend had come back the previous day—living at Longbourn proved to be very informative if you had an interest in the comings and goings of the local gentry—Mr Darcy had been to Netherfield in order to take leave of his friend and would then depart for London.  
  
He came back from that visit more agitated than when he had left and hoped he would have an occasion to speak with Miss Elizabeth soon. After having led his horse back to the Longbourn stables, Darcy stepped in the hall just in time to see that lady flee from one of the parlours and up the stairs, and her mother quickly entering the room her daughter had just exited. He hesitated, not knowing if he should go after Miss Bennet, greet her mother and her cousin—for that gentleman's voice could now be heard, or simply retreat to the library where Mr Bennet was probably ensconced, when some of the words William Collins was enunciating reached his mind.  
  
“I have every reason to be satisfied from that interview! The steadfast refusal my dear cousin Elizabeth opposed me is proof of her natural modesty and genuine delicacy.”  
  
“I am afraid this seems to be unlike anything Lizzy would do,” Mrs Bennet could be heard to answer in a somewhat hesitant voice. “But depend on it, Mr Collins, that she shall be brought to reason. I shall speak to her about it myself directly.”  
  
Mr Darcy could not take any more of it and entered into the room.  
  
“You cannot be serious!”  
  
The other two stared at him.  
  
“I fail to see how a family matter would be of any concern to you, Mr Darcy,” said Mrs Bennet in a pinched tone.  
  
“Madam, it is my understanding that Mr Collins made a proposal of marriage to Miss Elizabeth, and that she refused him. Am I correct?”  
  
Mr Collins nodded, though some doubt was rising in his exp ****ression.  
  
“Lizzy is a very headstrong, foolish girl who does not know what is good for her,” answered her mother in a dismissive voice. “I shall make her know where her own interest is.”  
  
Mr Collins huffed. “If this is really the case, I am not certain she would be a very desirable wife for a man in my situation. I need a wife who would contribute to my felicity, not undermine it by her fits of temper.”  
  
Darcy was surprised to find himself on the same mind as Mr Collins. “Mr Collins has the right of it, madam. If there is one young lady who knows exactly what she wants, it is Miss Elizabeth. I should very much doubt that she would profess opinions that are not her own in a matter of such importance, nor does she strikes me as a lady who would toy with her own happiness. If she said no, she must be resolute not to have him, and you will not have her change her mind.”  
  
A vexed Mr Collins—for had he not been misdirected by Mrs Bennet on his arrival?—then excused himself, and went to walk in the gardens. Mrs Bennet glared at the remaining gentleman and went straight to her husband's study, from where she went away shortly afterwards looking even more displeased. She then climbed the stairs in pursuit of her headstrong, obstinate child—that became obvious when her lamentations, reproofs and entreating could be heard through the house. The library and its thick door were very appealing, and Darcy opted to join his host, who nodded when the young man entered and sat with a book. The sounds of the house were now muffled, and though Darcy felt some guilt at the idea that he had left Miss Bennet alone to deal with her mother, he did not see how he could properly manage to extricate her out of her predicament. He wondered how, in such agitation, they would find a moment for him to quietly impart to her what Bingley told him, when a very agitated Elizabeth entered her father's refuge.  
  
“Papa, please!” Mr Bennet lifted his eyes from his book. “Please, tell me that you did not, and will not consent to grant Mr Collins my hand.”  
  
“You can be reassured on that point, young lady. Now would you please leave us in peace?”  
  
“May I sit with you? I should rather not be around Mama for the time being. I promise I shall make myself scarce.”  
  
Her father nodded, and after choosing a book, she sat on the settee near the fireplace. After half a minute, Darcy joined her. She looked at him.  
  
“I may have learned something. You know that Mr Jones suspected a laudanum overdose, but Miss Bingley’s maid was adamant that the one she gave her was harmless?” Elizabeth nodded. “Well, I just went to see Bingley before I left the area, he confessed fearing his carelessness had cost his sister her life.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“He wished for her to retire early and said he had dropped some laudanum in her glass after dinner.”  
  
“Oh dear. But the doses were so small—I know that one must take care when it comes to opiates, but surely a double dose would not have been enough to cause Miss Bingley much harm.”  
  
“This is what I told him.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded and went back to her book. She soon started and rose.   
  
“Forgive me, I—I have to see to Jane. I shall be back soon.”  
  
Not waiting for an answer, she curtsied and fled from the room, leaving a baffled gentleman behind her—Mr Bennet had lived too long in a household of ladies to be baffled by anything.  
  
Elizabeth raced up the stairs and barged into Jane’s room. She found her sister alone, awake, and alarmed at such an intrusion.  
  
“Lizzy! What is the matter?”  
  
“Nothing, nothing, everything is well ... it is just … Jane, you told me the other day that you did not take your laudanum dose that last night at Netherfield.”  
  
Jane nodded, puzzlement visible on her face.  
  
“What became of it? Did you spill it?”  
  
Jane blushed as she shook her head. “Do not think ill of me, Lizzy. Miss Bingley came to visit me before retiring, but I feared that I was not equal to conversation, and gave her the glass in which I had mixed the syrup with some wine. It worked, she felt tired and retired soon afterwards. Why are you asking? Are you angry with me for my deception?”  
  
“No, Jane. I am not.”  
  
“Do you think I may have killed Caroline?” her sister suddenly fretted.  
  
Elizabeth paused. “No, Jane,” she said at last. “I believe it is as Mr Jones said: Miss Bingley’s death is completely accidental.”  
  
Elizabeth left the room and went back to the library at a much slower pace than when she had left it. Her father did not as much as raise his eyes from his book when she entered and took her former seat back.  
  
“Mr Darcy,” she whispered to the inquisitive looking gentleman. “We have to determine who else gave Miss Bingley a normal dose of laudanum that night.”  
  
The gentleman, who was distracted with how bright her eyes were, whispered back. “What is your theory?”  
  
“Miss Bingley asked for one,” she answered, raising her fingers successively. “Bingley gave her one, as did Jane. That’s three—maybe not enough for poisoning, but if there were one or two more people who acted in the same way at the same time …”  
  
“The Hursts seemed satisfied when Miss Bingley retired that night,” mused Darcy.  
  
“And Jones told you that Vincent gave her a little more … Perhaps other servants would also have benefitted from her rest.”  
  
They looked at each other.  
  
“Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of visiting Netherfield?”  
  
“Are the Hursts in residence?”  
  
“Aye, they came back with Bingley and were to stay a fortnight.”  
  
Mr Bennet, whose tranquility was troubled by their whisperings, waved them off, and they were on their way as soon as Mr Darcy’s carriage, which had come from London a couple days before, was ready.  
  
**Netherfield, later that day**  
  
“Mrs Hurst, Bingley, Mr Hurst, thank you for receiving us. We ... “ Darcy threw a glance to Elizabeth, who continued.  
  
“We think we have an idea about what happened to Miss Bingley. It seems it is all an accident.”  
  
“My sister would never have accidentally swallowed that much laudanum!” protested Mrs Hurst.  
  
“No. Not if she had been aware of it,” said Elizabeth gently.  
  
“Louisa, she took a dose as she went to sleep, and I gave her another earlier that evening,” confessed Bingley.  
  
“A double dose would not kill her either,” cried Mrs Hurst as her husband swore. She paused. “Hurst?”  
  
“I gave her one, too. She had been prattling all evening, and I feared she would never stop.”  
  
Mrs Hurst paled. “Three doses?”  
  
“Four, perhaps five.” Elizabeth sighed. “Jane gave her hers for the same reason Mr Hurst did, and Vincent thought she needed a little more than she had asked.”  
  
“And maybe more,” continued Darcy. “Maybe some of your staff had the same idea. Laudanum is easily procured.”  
  
Bingley rose and summoned the housekeeper. A discussion with the woman led to learning that she also had slipped a small dose of laudanum in Miss BIngley’s drink, in order to calm her down. The lady’s abigail confirmed that she had, when asked to fetch a dose, augmented it a little in order to ensure that her mistress would have a good rest. Each taken separately, these superfluous doses would not have had another effect than making her sleep later in the morning than was her wont. The temporal coincidence was what had been fatal to Miss Bingley.  
  
“Nobody must learn about that!” entreated Mrs Hurst once she had fully comprehended the situation.  
  
“We shall not say one more word,” said Darcy as Elizabeth nodded. “All that matters is that it _was_ an accident. Since there was no ill intent, its circumstances are, I believe, irrelevant.”  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth soon took their leave of the grieving family and made their way back to Longbourn. The weather being fair, they decided to walk, and the gentleman sent his carriage back at Longbourn. Neither of them wished for their association to come to an end, but it was time for them to go on their separate ways. Not wanting their last stroll to end too soon, they walked more slowly than was their wont, sometime in silence, sometime in pleasant conversation.


	2. Case 2 - The Boot of the Red Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We left Elizabeth and Darcy in company of each other, before one must part for London and the other must stay home. Since this story is the shortest of the lots and picks up a couple minutes after the last one ended, I though I'd post both of them together.

**Wednesday afternoon, the paths between Netherfield and Meryton**  
  
As they came back from their visit to the mourning Netherfield party, Darcy and Elizabeth cut through the fields and had nearly arrived in Meryton when she stumbled. He steadied her, and a closer look at the path allowed them to discern a booted leg that had been hidden by some foliage. Darcy went to take a closer look while Elizabeth stayed behind—at least, until she heard him utter a dismayed exclamation. She rushed to his side and stopped on recognising that the lying man was Colonel Forster. His glassy eyes made it clear he was no longer among the living. The dark stain on his side and the rent in his red coat were an indication of how such a thing could have happened.  
  
Ignoring Darcy’s glare, she crouched, took off one glove, and touched the man’s brow.  
  
“He is not so very cold. He must have died quite recently.”  
  
Disapprobation gave way to interest in Darcy’s features.  
  
“Who do you think might have done such a thing?” Elizabeth continued.  
  
“Wickham,” he said categorically. On Elizabeth’s silent enquiry, he continued: “When there is something bad happening, look for Wickham first.”  
  
“You did no such thing a fortnight ago.”  
  
“I did. He was not there.”  
  
She rolled her eyes but did not object, focusing instead on the muddy ground.  
  
“He has been dragged here,” she declared at last. “Probably by someone with small feet, but I cannot have a clear idea of their size since the footprints are not clear.”  
  
“He must have had an accomplice.”   
  
She threw him an amused glance. “You really want him to be involved.”  
  
He scowled. She rose back from where she had crouched on the ground and followed the marks made by the body. She did not go far.  
  
“Blood has been shed here. Quite a lot, apparently. There are some footprints before that; he appears to have walked here willingly.”  
  
After looking around a little longer, she turned towards Darcy.  
  
“I do not think we shall find more clues here. We should go back to Meryton, send a couple men to bring his body back, and look for someone with muddy and bloody clothes before they can dispose of them.”  
  
Darcy only nodded, and they continued towards the village at a brisk pace.  
  
**Meryton, not five minutes later**  
  
In the street, they found Mr Wickham, who made a point of greeting Darcy with a smirk.  
  
“Wickham,” the gentleman answered. “Where were you this morning?”  
  
"Why does it matter to you?"  
  
"Answer. Me."  
  
“He was in London,” one of his fellow officers said once it was clear that Wickham would not speak. “Colonel Forster sent him there yesterday and he is back only now with the mail coach.”  
  
“Did you _see_ him stepping down from the mail coach?”  
  
“Of course I did,” answered the bewildered lieutenant. A glance revealed to Elizabeth that Mr Wickham was no less baffled by his former friend’s enquiries than his fellow officer.  
  
“See? It cannot be him,” she said.  
  
Darcy did not answer and scowled at Wickham, who merely rolled his eyes and said, in a bored voice.  
  
“Now, Miss Bennet, Darcy, if you would excuse me, I have a report to give my Colonel.”  
  
“We shall follow you to his lodgings.”  
  
Wickham opened his mouth to object when Elizabeth added: “We must see Mrs Forster on a matter of some emergency and do not know where their lodgings are.”  
  
The man shrugged. “Suit yourselves. I am surprised, though, Miss Bennet, to see you in Darcy’s company.”  
  
“I have found he improves on further acquaintance,” she answered with a smile.  
  
Wickham frowned, and Elizabeth thought she could see some embarrassment on his face. He nonetheless indicated that they were to follow him, and they did so in silence.   
  
After a while, Elizabeth whispered. “Do you think we should tell him?”  
  
“Tell me what, Miss Bennet?” asked Wickham, turning to look at her.  
  
“You will not find Forster at his lodgings,” Darcy answered. “We stumbled upon him on our way from Netherfield. You will have to fetch him afterwards.”  
  
“Oh? But then why—”  
  
“You were out of town,” supplied Elizabeth. “Therefore, you are cleared. Probably.”  
  
“Cleared from what?”  
  
“Any responsibility in Forster’s death.”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“Please, go on. We need to see Mrs Forster.”  
  
A shocked Wickham led them for the remainder of the way.  
  
**The Forsters’ lodgings**  
  
Mrs Forster welcomed the mismatched trio inside her home. She seemed fidgety, glancing out of the window whenever she heard a noise in the street. Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a look.  
  
“There is no easy way to say this,” Elizabeth began gently. “Your husband is dead.”  
  
“Is he? Oh. Oh, no. What will become of me?”  
  
Compared to Wickham’s earlier reaction to the same news, Mrs Forster’s was tepid at best. Granted, Mr Wickham was experienced in expressing feelings that, while appropriate for the situation, were not his own, but Darcy knew him well, and his surprise, if not his sorrow, had been genuine. Another glance at Elizabeth indicated that she shared his opinion. She chose that moment to rise from her chair.  
  
“Forgive me, Mrs Forster, is there somewhere I can wash my hands? I am afraid I fell earlier and …”  
  
Mrs Forster directed her to a door, and Elizabeth disappeared through it, leaving the two former friends in uncomfortable company with the barely grieving widow.  
  
Elizabeth  lost no time once she was out of sight, and it was not long before she discovered a crumpled dress and muddy shoes. Unfolded, the dress revealed recent traces of mud and blood, as well as a sharp knife. Elizabeth wondered why Mrs Forster would kill the man she had married not one month before; however, the evidence appeared to be there. On a chair nearby hung a shawl. Its colour matched the dress, and after further observation of the dress, Elizabeth concluded that Mrs Forster must have worn it in such a way to mask the stain. Going to a basin, she rinsed her hands quickly, picked up the dress and shoes, and went back to the drawing room. Mr Darcy’s eyes widened on seeing what she held.  
  
“Mrs Forster, please forgive my impertinence; I could not help noticing that your maid was really careless with your things. Do you mind if I take these back to Longbourn and have our house-maid clean them? She really is a treasure for these kinds of things.”  
  
“No!” squealed Harriet Forster, jumping from her seat to snatch away the dress Elizabeth held. “I mean … you may give her the shoes to clean … but as for the dress, this does not matter, it will soon be dyed black.”  
  
“So that you can hide the blood stains?” enquired Darcy icily. “Wickham, would you mind fetching some of your comrades and directing them to that path that leads to Netherfield, from which we came? Forster is a couple hundred yards further. Come back as quickly as possible with Mr Knowles.”  
  
“I won’t even leave,” Wickham said. Whatever he was going to say or do next was cut short by Mrs Forster, who threw herself at him.  
  
“Oh, dear Wickham! Thank you, thank you so much! With Forster dead, we shall be soon free to express our love in broad daylight and—”  
  
“Are you daft, woman?”  
  
“Wickham?”  
  
He said nothing, pushed her away, and strode to the window. Once he opened it, he blew a loud whistle and shouted orders to some passing officers, while Mrs Forster launched herself in a tirade against Elizabeth.  
  
"This is all your fault! Had you not gone prying into my things all would have been well! But no, you were jealous, you would not let me have him!"  
  
"Who?" asked Darcy while Elizabeth watched Mrs Forster in fascination, as one might watch a shipwreck.  
  
"She wanted to steal my dear Wickham away!"  
  
At this Darcy frowned, Elizabeth blinked, and Wickham laughed.   
  
"I was never yours to begin with, Mrs Forster. What could have given you that idea?"  
  
"You came every day for tea. Why would you have come if not for me? It was not long before I realised that I must be free again, for your principles must revolt against paying court to a married woman."  
  
Something between a cough and a laugh could be heard coming from the vicinity of Darcy.  
  
"I made a mistake when I rushed into a marriage with Forster, so I had to break free! God knows how I wanted to break free. I had achieved this, and _they_ had to enter and ruin it all!" she concluded, pointing her finger at Elizabeth and Darcy. Mr Knowles, as well as Denny and Pratt, had arrived at some point during that speech. The officers were about to carry Mrs Forster away when Darcy halted them.  
  
“How did we ruin anything, madam?”  
  
The lady sighed. “I imagine that protesting of my innocence at this point would be quite futile. I had thought I had hidden him well, that he would be found late enough for the time of his death not to be easily known. Late enough for me to wash or burn my frock.”   
  
“How did you do it?”  
  
“It was the simplest thing in the world. Forster had suggested that we take a stroll this morning, and I thought to pocket a knife—I had thought about freeing myself for some time, you know, and I should rather not have missed an opportunity for want of a weapon.” She shrugged. The others kept silent, waiting for her to continue.  
  
“We reached an area where we could not be seen from town, and there was no one around, so I stabbed him. He bled quite a lot, but it was absorbed into the earth, and not so visible thanks to the rain. I dragged him under some nearby shrubs. He could not completely fit underneath them, but he was concealed well enough under the greenery. If you had not found him, people would have concluded that some miscreants got him. But you _had_ to travel down the very path where he was hidden. It is all for naught.”  
  
She sighed again, and followed the officers without struggling.  
  
**The road from Meryton to Longbourn, late afternoon**  
  
“I told you Wickham was involved,” Darcy said as they were leaving Meryton. Elizabeth laughed. He had thought once that her eyes’ exp ****ression made her face appear uncommonly intelligent. He was pleased to have ascertained that it was not merely a facade. How many women did he know who would have satisfactorily solved a murder case? Now _this_ was an accomplishment worth having.  
  
“I shall be sorry to leave Hertfordshire,” he eventually said.  
  
“I shall be sorry to see you gone. However, you cannot stay, your work here is done.”  
  
"With both you and Wickham, they did not feel they needed me to bear witness to the trial. However, I shall stay if you wish it."  
  
"It is not necessary, and it would give my mother the wrong idea. You will come back to your friend when he comes out of mourning?"  
  
"I shall come back to my friends," Darcy assured her, "unless my friends come to me first."  
  
Nothing more was said until they reached Longbourn. Mr Darcy checked that his valet had packed his things in order that they could leave early on the following day, yet they were not one mile out of Meryton before he began to miss the friends he had left behind. He could not stay longer at Netherfield or at Longbourn, but he would be back. Bingley was to remain at Netherfield until the end of his lease, Miss Bennet had family in London. Either in Hertfordshire or in Town, he would have the occasion to see with her again. Maybe, if they were very lucky, it would be besides a corpse. He hoped that, at the very least, they would encounter another mystery waiting to be solved together.


	3. Case 3 - Of Letters and Land

**Hunsford, mid-March 1812**  
  
Elizabeth Bennet had travelled from Longbourn, along with Sir William and Maria Lucas, in order to visit with Mr and Mrs Collins at the latter’s request. Her friend had asked for it on her wedding day and had reminded her of it lately in her letters, in such a manner that Elizabeth could not help but feel concerned for her. Upon her arrival at Hunsford, she was happy to see Charlotte again but soon learned that her friend had indeed another motive than the pleasure of her company to wish for her presence. Mrs Collins said nothing while leading the ladies and Sir William on a tour of the parsonage, nor during or after dinner, and waited until Elizabeth had retired for the evening to join her in her room. Once they were alone, she revealed her worries to her friend.  
  
Soon after Mrs Collins had settled at the parsonage, strange things had begun to happen in Hunsford and its neighbourhood. Many people, seemingly unrelated to one another, had started to receive anonymous notes that were unpleasant enough to trouble the tranquillity of the villagers. Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself had been the recipient of such a letter. This had greatly displeased her and, consequently, her vicar. He had not felt dismayed at first by the disparaging notes he had himself received, but had changed his mind when his patroness had deemed them outrageous.  
  
Her ladyship had decided to restore harmony, but nothing she had done had yielded results, and Charlotte Collins hoped that her friend would find something that would help them to identify who was writing those letters, thus stopping their reception for ever.  
  
The various missives had been confiscated by Lady Catherine, but Mrs Collins mostly remembered who had received them and took Elizabeth to visit the recipients. Those she missed came to call at the parsonage on learning that some effort was being made to make the unpleasantness stop.  
  
These people seemed to have nothing in common: Mr and Mrs Collins, the apothecary, the butcher, some of Rosings’s tenants, possibly others. The letters, though unpleasing, did not appear threatening. Elizabeth was puzzled. As she spoke with their recipients, however, she began to discern a common occurrence. In each and every case, Lady Catherine had personally retrieved the letter. In one instance, she had still been visiting a family after the mother had fallen ill when a note arrived. The lampoons had, without exception, been sent to people in whom Lady Catherine took a personal interest or whose uneasiness she would easily notice.  
  
“You told me that Lady Catherine herself received letters, Charlotte. Have other people at the manor house received some?”  
  
“Yes. Dawson, her ladyship’s abigail, has. As has Mrs Jenkinson, the lady who lives at Rosings with Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh.”  
  
“And Miss de Bourgh herself?”  
  
“I do not believe she got one.”  
  
Elizabeth remained silent. After a moment, her friend asked: “What are you thinking?”  
  
“Nothing yet, but it strikes me as strange. Why would everyone connected with Lady Catherine receive a letter, except for her daughter?”  
  
“Perhaps she did receive one but feels her mother is overbearing enough and does not want to give her more reasons to meddle in her affairs?”  
  
“Perhaps,” mused Elizabeth. _And perhaps Miss de Bourgh is enjoying a bit of freedom while Lady Catherine’s attentions are focused elsewhere_. “Mr Collins said we were to be invited for tea tomorrow. Do you think I shall have the opportunity to have a discussion with Miss de Bourgh?”  
  
“I shall ensure that you can, Eliza.”  
  
**Monday 23 March, Hunsford**  
  
Elizabeth had rejoiced when, during their last visit to Rosings, her ladyship had announced that her nephews were soon coming to visit. One of them was Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of the Earl of ——, the other was Mr Darcy. Her ladyship had frowned on learning that the company was already acquainted with the latter gentleman and went on to instruct Mr Collins on following Mr Darcy’s instructions. Of Colonel Fitzwilliam, she spoke only a little. Elizabeth hoped Mr Darcy’s presence would help throw a new light on the situation, for she had not made any additional progress in her enquiries. Maybe, if she joined forces with Mr Darcy, they would succeed in solving the problem that resisted her efforts. She only had two letters Charlotte had received and hid from her husband, and could not access the others, but Darcy certainly would be able to do so. She had also gleaned some unrelated gossip—the gentleman who had replaced the local solicitor was the younger son of a duke, Miss de Bourgh had been seen in company of a young man, a militia would stop in the village on its way to its summer quarters in Brighton, Mrs Jenkinson had made several trips to the apothecary by herself, and bets had been placed regarding the day when Mr Collins would make an interesting homily.  
  
She was eager for his arrival, and her cousin’s announcement, at breakfast, that the gentlemen’s carriage had passed the gates shortly beforehand nearly made her dance with happiness. She counted the hours that would pass before she could expect a visit and willed herself not to be impatient.  
  
**The same day, the same time, Rosings**  
  
Very soon after he arrived, Darcy had an audience with Lady Catherine. His aunt had decided, at last, that she needed some external help to deal with the current blight on the local harmony. She explained to her nephew, in more details than in the letter with which she summoned him, about the situation and showed him the letters she had received.  
  
Darcy took the offered letters and shuffled through them while wondering what Elizabeth Bennet would have said about them. For a flicker of time, he wished that she had married her cousin, for it would have meant that she would have been around to help him solve this case. _No, poor thing would have gone mad within a month of marriage, and we would have another corpse to deal with_. He wondered whether Colonel Fitzwilliam would be willing to help him in his endeavours. _Not likely. My dear cousin could not escape to the billiard room soon enough when he realised what Aunt Catherine was about_. Darcy sighed.  
  
“You may want to stop at the parsonage,” said Lady Catherine. “I have been told that Mrs Collins and her friend have made some enquiries. I do not believe their queries yielded anything, but you may want to know what they did in order to not waste your time by repeating it.”  
  
At this, Darcy perked up. “Mrs Collins—the former Charlotte Lucas?”  
  
“Yes,” said Lady Catherine with a huff. “I have been told that you met her, her family, and her friends, while you were visiting that acquaintance of yours.”  
  
“I did. Would you know which one of her friends is currently visiting?” _The chances were slim, but still_ ...  
  
“A Miss Bennet, who also happens to be a cousin of her husband.”  
  
Darcy could not quite believe his luck. “Miss _Elizabeth_ Bennet?”  
  
“Yes, yes. Can you believe that there are five Miss Bennets and that they are all out at once?”  
  
Darcy was so caught in his happiness to have his Hertfordshire colleague nearby that he barely could answer in an appropriate fashion. He soon excused himself, put the letters away in his room, and prepared to go calling at the parsonage. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had, on hearing noise in the hall, glanced outside of his sanctuary, was baffled by his cousin’s cheerful behaviour and decided to join him. Darcy remained ebullient all the way to the parsonage.  
  
**Later that day, Mrs Collins’s drawing-room**  
  
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s surprise did not abate throughout the visit to the parsonage. Not only did he not expect to see his cousin as lively as he could be in other settings, but he would never have imagined seeing the man so absorbed with a young lady of unexalted parentage. After the ladies and Mr Collins had been introduced to the Colonel and greeted Darcy, the latter went to sit by Miss Bennet in a corner of the drawing-room where they had a hushed conversation. They spoke too softly for the Colonel to overhear them, so he turned his attention back to Miss Lucas and Mrs Collins.  
  
Meanwhile, the two investigators were quick to delve into their main preoccupation.  
  
“May I hope that you are here for the same reason that I am?” asked Elizabeth.  
  
“You mean the strange happenings around Rosings?” On seeing her nod, he continued. “To own the truth, I often visit my aunt around this time of the year, but yes, she specifically summoned me in order to beg for my assistance. I do not believe she has _ever_ done so in the past.”  
  
“Charlotte had invited me before her wedding, but her letters had become more insistent of late; she explained her reasons to me on the day of my arrival.”  
  
“I understand you did not make any progress?”  
  
“Not much. We have determined a common denominator among the recipients, but it is tenuous at best. Moreover, I did not have access to the letters. The people I met could remember the essence of them, but it is not the same as seeing the original documents.”  
  
“I concur. Fortunately, Lady Catherine has entrusted me with them. Would you like to review them?”  
  
“Oh, yes!”  
  
Elizabeth’s exclamation had drawn the attentions of the others. After an embarrassed pause, she continued in a quieter voice.  
  
“I do not believe, however, that we could easily meet either here or at Rosings. There is a lane I favour for my walks in the park. Would you meet me there in the morning?”  
  
Darcy agreed, and they quickly ascertained the location and time for their meeting before the gentlemen took their leave.  
  
They had barely walked twenty yards when the Colonel elbowed his younger cousin.  
  
“You are a brave one!”  
  
Darcy did not answer.  
  
“Courting a young lady under her ladyship’s nose?”  
  
“I am not courting anyone,” was the only answer he received.  
  
“What would you call it, then?” Colonel Fitzwilliam scoffed.  
  
“Can I not have a discussion with a young lady without it being labelled as courting?”  
  
Fitzwilliam smiled, but did not press his cousin further.  
  
**Elizabeth’s favourite lane in Rosings Park, the following morning**  
  
Darcy walked towards the agreed meeting point, carrying a leather portfolio containing two dozen letters. Elizabeth, who was holding a couple missives as well, was already waiting for him.  
  
“Mr Collins received another one this morning and would only give it to me after Charlotte convinced him it would end up in Lady Catherine’s hands,” she explained after they had greeted each other. “The other two were received earlier by Charlotte—she wanted me to look at them rather than rely on her memory, and thus did not give them to her ladyship. Did you succeed in collecting the notes she kept?”  
  
“I did. I told my aunt that I wanted to peruse them, and she gave them to me at once. Anne made no difficulty in providing either.”  
  
“Miss de Bourgh? But she told me she received none!”  
  
“It only came recently, I believe. She made me promise to not tell her mother about it.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
“I saw no need to inform my aunt,” he answered with a shrug. “Anne does not need her mother to have one more reason to hover around her. Moreover, its contents were not nearly as awful as some of the others. See for yourself.”  
  
Several benches had been placed along the lane, and Elizabeth walked to the nearest one. Once seated, she took the portfolio from Darcy and perused the letters. They were all from the same hand, and the people with whom she had talked had recollected their substance well enough. The letters whose contents she had no previous knowledge of were neither tamer nor more vicious than the others Elizabeth had read, but Miss de Bourgh’s made her pause. In the same hand that had written the other notes, the list of the young lady’s non-existent accomplishments ran down the page, and the author concluded about the likeliness of her ending up an unloved spinster.  
  
“This is strange,” Elizabeth said once she had read the note twice.  
  
“I do not see how.”  
  
“The note does not allude to some of her supposed wrongdoings.”  
  
“I doubt my cousin has many occasions to do much wrong, apart, perhaps, in misplaying her hand at quadrille.”  
  
“Were you aware that it is said she meets secretly with a young man during her rides in her phaeton?”  
  
“It cannot be!”  
  
“Whether this is true or not, the local gossip mill is certain about that—there were several unrelated witnesses to these supposed encounters. Those letters were all very precise in their denunciations. Why is Miss de Bourgh’s different?”  
  
“That I do not know, but it is of little importance. Should this rumour have any truth, be assured that I shall not let Wickham importune my family again!”  
  
Elizabeth looked at him, eyebrows raised, lips pinched.  
  
“You will have to lose this habit, sir. Mr Wickham is _not_ always around wherever there is trouble.”  
  
“He should be. It would be simpler to elucidate matters if he were! In any case, I cannot see how it could not be him in this instance.”  
  
Elizabeth merely shook her head.  
  
“Well, it is not him. First, he is fifty miles away with his regiment—”  
  
“What is fifty miles of good roads? I call it a very easy distance.”  
  
“—second, the young man was said to be the son of Mr Lewis, of a neighbouring estate.”  
  
“Gunnings?”  
  
“I think that could be it.”  
  
“Lady Catherine detests the family.”  
  
They both fell silent. Elizabeth put the letters back in the portfolio, when Darcy gasped. “Miss Bennet, I think I may have an explanation to this all.”  
  
“Do tell?”  
  
“If Mr Lewis is paying court to Anne, he would not want Lady Catherine to notice it. My aunt has made her wishes clear where her daughter’s future is concerned, though they do not coincide with those of the concerned parties. Therefore, the letters must be a distraction!”  
  
“You may very well be right! He sent letters to everyone but Anne at first, only passing one to her on realising that this omission would draw attention to her … and of course he could not mention their meetings in it! If only we had a sample of his penmanship to compare with the letters!”  
  
“I shall endeavour to get one,” said Darcy. There was a moment of silence, after which he continued, “I should truly like it if we were to do this more often.”  
  
“What are you speaking about?”  
  
“This,” he answered, shaking his hand back and forth between the two of them. “I like working with you.”  
  
“I like it too. It is a shame that it cannot easily be done without flaunting propriety. This is where being a woman is an impediment,” she sighed.  
  
He did not answer, and when she looked at him, she thought he appeared lost in his thoughts. She elbowed him back to the present. He turned towards her and spoke slowly, as if he were giving voice to an idea that was being formed in his head along as he spoke.  
  
“There is a case waiting for me in London for which I should appreciate your input. If I could find some way for you to be allowed to accompany me ... would that be agreeable to you?”  
  
“It would,” Elizabeth laughed. “I believe this would be easily done in having my aunt and uncle in the confidence.”  
  
It was his turn to sigh.  
  
“However, if our investigations were to lead us out of town, you would not be able to follow.”  
  
“I am afraid you are right. Now, rather than discussing impossibilities, let us focus on the task at hand.”  
  
“I am afraid that you will not be able to do much. I shall enquire about this supposed suitor of Anne’s, and endeavour to get samples of his writing.”  
  
“And hers,” added Elizabeth.  
  
“If you wish. I believe my aunt was to call your party for tea on Easter day. I should have found something by then. Will you continue taking your walks in the morning? I shall endeavour to meet with you as soon as I have learned more.”  
  
Elizabeth promptly agreed and they went each on their way.  
  
**The same place, some days after**  
  
Elizabeth knew that any chances she had to happen upon Mr Darcy were slim, since it was doubtful he would have concluded his enquiries so soon, but she had nonetheless gone out every morning and enjoyed her walks. She was on her way back to the parsonage when she heard someone approach her. She felt some anticipation but deflated on seeing it was merely Colonel Fitzwilliam. He told her he had taken advantage of Mr Darcy’s absence to make the tour of the park and offered to accompany her.  
  
"How long are you planning to stay at Rosings?"  
  
"Till Saturday after Easter—if Darcy does solve this puzzle by that time. I am lucky that he does not appear to consider me at his disposal, as he did when we were in London. I believe you are the one I must thank for the relative freedom I enjoy now!”  
  
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that Mr Darcy brought you here chiefly for the sake of having someone _at his disposal_?”  
  
“He likes to have his own way very well, and before we came he compelled me into helping him to identify the source of some threats received by one of his acquaintances. I felt certain that he would have enrolled me in his quest to discover what troubles Lady Catherine, and I dare say he would have done so by now if your charms had not distracted him.”  
  
To this Elizabeth merely answered with a smile. _If he only knew!_ Meanwhile, the Colonel continued his speech.  
  
“You cannot imagine how tedious that time in London was. Dragging me here and there, expecting me to help him in his enquiries so that his friend would be reassured!”  
  
“And was he?”  
  
“No!” he laughed. “The puzzle was still unsolved when we left, and I believe Darcy was rather annoyed by the fact. My opinion was that this was a complete fabrication. You have contributed, I think, to lighten his mood, but I dread our return to London. Without the distraction of your lovely presence, he will drag me back to that affair. I wish he would find someone else than me to help him.”  
  
On glancing at Elizabeth, he saw a wistful look on her face.  
  
“Or perhaps he will be so taken by you than he will offer for you and this will keep him to focus on things better left to underlings. I do wonder why he does not hire someone to assist him in his endeavours.”  
  
Elizabeth merely rolled her eyes and privately hoped that the Gardiners would allow her to second Mr Darcy in the quest that was waiting for him in London. A couple more steps allowed her to realise that she was jealous of his occupation. The Colonel continued to rattle on about how Darcy was lucky to do whatever he wished, when he himself was stuck to the limitations related to being a second son. Elizabeth said a word now and then when she felt it was needed, but her thoughts had returned to the present affair. It had been days since she had met Mr Darcy, surely he had learned something about Mr Lewis by now? Had he succeeded in acquiring samples of the pair’s writing?  
  
**Hunsford parsonage, later that day**  
  
Lady Catherine, after the Maundy Thursday services, had unexpectedly bid the inhabitants of the parsonage to come for tea. When Charlotte, Maria and Mr Collins prepared themselves to go to Rosings, Elizabeth declared she would stay home. She hoped Darcy would conclude she wished to talk to him and, indeed, an agitated Darcy called at the parsonage soon afterwards.  
  
“Forgive me for not having seen you before,” he told her after he was settled in the drawing-room. “You had gone back from your walk when I could leave Lady Catherine, and a call at the parsonage would not have allowed us to talk freely.”  
  
“You are here now, and we have enough privacy to talk. _This_ is what matters. I surmise that you have made some progress.”  
  
“I have. Acquiring letters from Mr Lewis and Anne did not prove to be that difficult. I have yet to receive an additional report about young Mr Lewis, but he does not seem to be a bad sort of man.”  
  
Mr Darcy sat, laid the portfolio on a nearby table, and instead of taking the samples out, went up and walked about the room. Eventually, he turned towards Elizabeth.  
  
“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how earnestly I value and esteem you.”  
  
She knew not what to answer to this declaration, but it did not appear as if he expected her to do so, for he continued speaking. He was no less eloquent on the subject of admiration than of propriety. His sense of her superiority—of it being an asset he would be foolish to lose—of the scorn they and their families would face should they run together all across England, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the greatness of the obstacles they would face were they to work together in any other setting than London, the only place where they could do so without creating some sort of scandal. It did nothing, however, to enlighten Elizabeth. She could not help but being moved by his compliments and would not deny that she would rejoice at a chance to build a more lasting partnership with the gentleman and solve mysteries at his side; however, what he said about the harm that would come to her family were it known that she travelled all over England with a man was true. What was he about, then?  
  
She tilted her head and frowned, studying his face, trying to decipher what he meant. Taking a deep breath, he walked to her and took her hand in his. She started and lowered her gaze.  
  
“Would you say we made a good team? Would you regret it if we had to part ways because of what is deemed proper?”  
  
“Yes to both,” she drawled, still looking at their joined hands in puzzlement.  
  
“You are better than me when it comes to interacting with people. I do not doubt that you would obtain more information from a dance with a gentleman than I should while spending a morning at the club with him. And I do not even mention my ability to converse with the ladies.”  
  
She smirked. “Them expecting a proposal after any conversation that would involve speaking of anything else than the weather would not help, I suppose.”  
  
“Quite,” he said, smiling back. “Therefore, I can only see one solution: we shall have to marry.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“Do you not see?” he said enthusiastically. “It would allow us to easily travel together or isolate ourselves to talk, and nobody will raise an eyebrow.”  
  
Elizabeth appeared, if possible, even more doubtful.  
  
“Do not take this wrong, but this seems a dreadful idea.”  
  
“How so? It would solve the problem of propriety perfectly!”  
  
“What would Society say on seeing Mr Darcy of Pemberley, grandson of an Earl, marry Miss Bennet of nowhere, granddaughter of a solicitor?”  
  
Darcy shrugged. “I am a gentleman, you are a gentleman’s daughter, so far we are equal.”  
  
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond exp ****ression. She stared at him and realised that, though he was smiling and spoke assuredly, as if in no doubt of a favourable answer, his countenance expressed apprehension and anxiety. She blushed and, understanding that he was expecting an answer, eventually spoke.  
  
“I should never have dreamed of such an offer. I am grateful that you esteem me enough to consider applying for my hand, but are you certain this is what you want? We have already elucidated this mystery, and once we do so with the next, we shall be bound together for the rest of our lives. You cannot guarantee that there will always be something to occupy us.”  
  
“Do you not read the scandal sheets?”  
  
“Certainly not!” she huffed.  
  
“I shall pretend to believe that.”  
  
She glared at him.  
  
“So, the scandal sheets. They are full of intrigue and … unsavoury behaviour, but now and then a mysterious death is reported. However, there is no proper institution in charge to deal with those cases. It all depends on the abilities of the local magistrate, and with powerful families involved, enquiries may not go too far.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Well, this guarantees that, once we are married, we shall always find some new case to enquire about.”  
  
“What of the times where there are none?” she insisted.  
  
The gentleman shrugged “Maybe you could study? I have spoken about that extensive library of mine, have I not?”  
  
Elizabeth nodded.  
  
“What I had not said, because it is supposedly not something said in front of young ladies, is that I have the latest medical and anatomy book.”  
  
“Oh?” she stopped fidgeting and looked at him intently.  
  
“And many of books about botany, of course.”  
  
Elizabeth's eyes brightened. "Truly? How did you know this was an interest of mine?"  
  
“It would be difficult not to when most of your endeavours, be they reading, embroidery, or attempts at drawing—yes, I did see those when I was at Longbourn—revolve around this topic. Now, Miss Bennet, will you agree to join forces with me to fight crime all over the Kingdom?”  
  
“I should like it, but, if I may speak plainly, what about children? They are a natural consequence of marriage, but I do not wish to be slowed down by confinements; this would be most inconvenient!”  
  
“Do you have no other objection?”  
  
“None.”  
  
“You do know that marriages do not automatically result in babies?”  
  
“I know,” she sighed. “Aunt Philips has no children. However, she suffered several miscarriages, and I do _not_ want those either.”  
  
It was his turn to sigh. He also began to blush. “What I mean is that we do not need to consummate the marriage.”  
  
She looked at him dubiously. “Would that not open grounds for an annulment? I would rather not deal with that kind of scandal later on.”  
  
“It would not.”  
  
“And you will not mind not having heirs?”  
  
“My uncle, the Earl, is always trying to match me with a young lady or another, but I do not need to have children,” he said, shrugging. “I have enough responsible cousins and my estate is not entailed; my current heir is my uncle Darcy’s second son. Depending on who Georgiana marries, that may change.”  
  
Elizabeth did not answer at first and pondered all that she had been said.  
  
“Well,” she said eventually. “I should be happy to accept your partnership and your proposal.”  
  
He beamed at her, and she chuckled, extending her hand which he shook firmly.  
  
“To our partnership, Miss Bennet. I look forward to working at your side.”  
  
“Now, as satisfying as this alliance is, it was not the object of this meeting.”  
  
“Indeed not. Here are the samples you required. I own I was surprised: it appears Anne herself wrote the letters.”  
  
He gave Elizabeth the portfolio, and after having compared the documents within, she agreed with his conclusion.  
  
“Did you discover whether Mr Lewis could be a fortune hunter?”  
  
“He certainly has an interest in my cousin’s inheritance—uniting Gunnings and Rosings would make it one of the greatest estates around—but I know no ill of him. Everything I learned until now tend to hint that he would be a proper husband for Anne.”  
  
“So, this letter campaign could be merely a diversion to distract your aunt and present her with a _fait accompli_. Lady Catherine will not want anyone around Miss de Bourgh since she wants her to marry you. As a result, Anne and her suitor will have devised a way to redirect her attention in order to carry their affair in secret.”  
  
“I do not like that. It could mean that they plan elope and Anne will end without a marriage contract as a result.”  
  
“Which is why we shall go to Rosings now, speak with her, and try to arrange the matter.”  
  
“Perhaps we should wait until after Easter in order to be certain of our facts. My last informant should report to me very soon. It would not do to arrive, expose our theory, and find out that we missed some important detail.”  
  
“I agree. Shall we meet on the lane every morning until then?”  
  
“Yes. I believe that, if young Mr Lewis is confirmed to be an acceptable suitor for Anne, we could then announce our engagement. With you and I marrying, Aunt Catherine will be more amenable to give them her blessings, and there will be no question of his taking advantage of my cousin.”  
  
**Rosings, Sunday 29 March, after Easter Services**  
  
Elizabeth stayed a little behind when her party entered the halls of Rosings. Darcy had been waiting for her, and they engaged in a whispered conversation before entering the East drawing-room usually favoured by Lady Catherine. Her ladyship, annoyed at their lateness, began to berate them as soon as they came in. She suddenly interrupted herself.  
  
“Why are you arriving together in the first place?”  
  
“We have been working on identifying who sent the anonymous letters, Aunt Catherine, and have reached a conclusion.”  
  
“Have you? Do not stand stupidly, have a seat! Now, tell me all. Anne!” she shouted on seeing that her daughter had risen. “You may indeed be excused. There is no reason for you to be exposed to such evil.”  
  
“I am sorry to contradict you, your ladyship, but Miss de Bourgh must stay. She has been deeply involved in this and could well be the main instigator of this campaign of calumny.”  
  
This sentence certainly amazed the whole room, and nothing could be heard but the soft creaking of a silk cushion whenever someone moved slightly.  
  
“Preposterous!” Lady Catherine exclaimed at last.  
  
“No, Aunt. Did you know that she met secretly with young Mr Lewis?”  
  
“What? Anne!”  
  
Anne merely blushed and looked at her lap. Even Lady Catherine read that as confirmation.  
  
“It is our understanding that she hoped to distract you in order to organise her flight with this young man.”  
  
“They wished to _elope_?”  
  
“We believe they do.”  
  
“Do not be ridiculous,” cut Anne. “I should not like to be jolted inside of a carriage for days. I am well over twenty-one and do not need anyone’s permission to marry. Mr Lewis is to buy a licence which will allow us to marry in his parish.”  
  
“Then what have you not done so already, Miss de Bourgh?”  
  
She sniffed. “I shall not marry without a marriage contract, and Lewis understands that very well! We had to find someone I could trust to both have my interests in mind and not speak to my family. This took some time; in the end we were lucky that someone new to the neighborhood took Mr Brown’s place when he retired.”  
  
“Nephew, I cannot thank you enough for your timely intervention. Now that this disgraceful alliance has been avoided, it may be time for you to make the dream my sister and I shared a reality,” Lady Catherine said with a tilt of the head towards Miss de Bourgh, who scowled. “Of course, Miss Bennet must also be rewarded for her help in this endeavour.”  
  
“We shall only ask for one thing, Lady Catherine,” answered the gentleman. “Will you give Elizabeth and I your blessings for our marriage?”  
  
At this, Mr Collins sputtered, Lady Catherine could not find her voice, and the rest of the company was, on the whole, happy for the announcement. Her ladyship did not stay silent long. Her first impulse was to argue in favour of a match made over cradles, but soon saw the futility of such an endeavour when both parties were clearly set against that match. After a last protest on principle, she declared she would publicly accept the matches the younger generation had deemed fit to make.  
  
“Be certain, however, that I shall make my displeasure with the manner in which I have been tricked known to my brother. He must also make his man of business contact me. I cannot have Anne marry that … person if I cannot be certain that her assets are properly protected.”  
  
“I believe they would be, Aunt. I learned no harm of Mr Lewis; moreover, uniting Rosings with the neighbouring estate would be a good thing.”  
  
“Pah! Off you go, Darcy! And take the girl with you to London! There will be a time when you will be welcome again, but for now I want you both far away from my land.”  
  
“Madam, I—”  
  
“She is right, Darcy, we must leave at once!” Darcy looked at his betrothed. She did not appear in the least offended, and her eyes shone with excitation. “Is there not some unfinished business waiting for you in London? May we go at once?”  
  
He smiled slowly. “Waiting for _us_ , Elizabeth. You are right, we are awaited there.”  
  
“Have your valet pack your things; I shall return to Hunsford to do likewise with mine and send my Uncle an express. If we are off soon, we shall be able to arrive before nightfall.”  
  
“We cannot travel on Sunday, Elizabeth.” The lady’s face fell.  
  
“Stay the night if you must, but leave my drawing-room! Off with yourselves!” cried Lady Catherine.  
  
They complied and soon left Kent for London.


	4. Case 4 - Menaces in Mayfair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We jump back in time for the first part of this chapter. The additional notes at the end contain a spoiler for this case.

**A Gentlemen’s Club in London, Monday 16 March 1812**  
  
Fitzwilliam Darcy was bored. As often happened these days, his mind turned towards Hertfordshire. He wondered how Bingley was recovering from his sister’s loss. More and more frequently, he also wondered what Elizabeth Bennet was doing. It would not do, however, to entertain thoughts of what could not be; moreover, it seemed unlikely that she encountered more excitement in her small town of Hertfordshire than he himself in London. The place where she lived was so peaceful that the two violent deaths that had happened there would be still the talk of the neighbourhood in a couple of decades. Darcy shook himself. He had to seek some distraction and had gone to his club in the hope it would provide him with one, but it seemed that nothing was happening which would relieve his ennui.  
  
He had decided to leave for a walk in the park—it did not matter that the hour was too early for it to be fashionable; there would always be the ducks and the occasional cow to break the monotony—when Lawrence Endicott entered the room. This would not have piqued Darcy’s attention, had the gentleman not appeared uneasy and on his guard. While he was hesitating over his course of action—should he leave for the park as planned, or would Mr Endicott welcome his prying—the newcomer caught his gaze and walked resolutely towards him. They greeted each other briefly and sat in matching armchairs.  
  
“You do not seem well, Endicott.”  
  
“That, Darcy, was an understatement if ever I heard one.”  
  
It was a little early in the day to drink, but his acquaintance’s countenance warranted an exception. Hailing the club’s butler, Darcy asked for two glasses of brandy. Despite this request being unusual, Houston did not raise an eyebrow and soon returned with the beverages. The gentlemen looked at the amber liquid swirling in their glasses before Mr Endicott spoke.  
  
“I have been told that you have a knack for making sense of strange happenings. I believe I may need your help.”  
  
Darcy put his glass aside and looked intently at the other man.  
  
“It began some weeks ago. I had decided that I was in need of a wife and was taking part in the season more actively than had been my wont.” Mr Endicott sighed, looked at his glass again. “And then, the letters came.”  
  
“What letters?”  
  
“Notes, really. I did not take them seriously at first. They warned me that I had better stay out of the marriage mart, else I would regret it.”  
  
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up. “A would-be rival who feared that your presence would hinder his chances to win the hand of an heiress?”  
  
“That is what I what I first thought, but the letters went on and—did you ever receive such a letter?”  
  
“No, but neither do I partake much in the Season.”  
  
“True. However, as far as I can tell, no one else has received such notes. Once they kept coming, I tried to identify their sender.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“I could not. Sealed letters bearing my name kept appearing in random places, sometimes at home, often in public. They begin to frighten me,” he said, pausing to sip his brandy. He then looked Darcy straight into the eye. “The last one stated that I should make sure to have my will in order.”  
  
“I see. But nothing more than sending letters has been done until now?”  
  
“Nothing. Yet, I neither want to obey nor to risk my life. And I can have no peace until this menace looms no more.”  
  
“Is it really worth it?”  
  
“You would encourage me to lay down and let _them_ win?”  
  
Darcy shrugged. “If, as you believe, it is a competitor on the marriage mart, let him be married first; it will be safe for you to go back into the fray afterwards.”  
  
“I will let no one dictate my life,” Endicott continued, stubbornly crossing his arms.  
  
“Even if it meant you end up dead?”  
  
Endicott only glared at him.  
  
“I do not ask that you go back in the country and lock yourself there. Just … do not accept as many invitations as you did, or do not stay at a gathering as long as you did before, and see whether this changes things.”  
  
“I do not like it.”  
  
“If you want me to take the time to look further into this, you will have to act as if those threats succeeded. I leave for Kent in a sennight; I hope I will be able to find some answers by then.”  
  
“Very well. However, as soon as you are gone, I will go back in earnest to my quest for a mistress for my homes.”  
  
They left the club for Endicott’s town house, where he collected his letters and made a list of his potential enemies to give to Darcy. His mother and sisters were out, and Darcy was leaving for his own home, when he heard his host swear.  
  
“Is everything well?”  
  
“No! Another of these damn letters was near the decanter!”  
  
“May I?” said Darcy, holding his hand. Endicott threw the note at him. Darcy observed its every angle, but it lacked any peculiarity. It had been sealed with candle wax, without anything being pressed in it. Neat print letters formed the name _Lawrence Endicott_ on one side. Giving it back to its recipient, he asked him to open it. It sported only one line, in the same neat script that was on the outside.

_STAY AWAY FROM THE SEASON, OR YOU WILL BE KEPT BACK_

  
Endicott groaned.  
  
Darcy privately thought that it was all words but no real potential for harm. Still, he would make whatever enquiries he could to resolve this mystery.  
  
**Darcy’s house, London, the following Sunday**  
  
Darcy was disgruntled. On realising there was no way for him to gather information without calling on the Endicott ladies, he had enlisted the aid of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was more comfortable with flirting with the fairer sex. They had, however, learned nothing—Darcy suspected that his cousin took the letters even less seriously than he himself did and focused entirely on flirting with the young ladies, and even with their mother! Little progress, if any, had been made during the week.  
  
Their perceived interest in the company of eligible young ladies resulted in a visit from Eustace Fitzwilliam, Earl of ——, who was delighted at the thought that either his nephew or his son was, _finally_ , on the verge of setting up his nursery. Darcy had endeavoured to disillusion his uncle, but it seemed that his relative was deaf to every refutation.  
  
Then an express had arrived from his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, full of cryptic references about how his help would be more necessary this year than it had been in previous times. The Earl had received a similar message and had urged Darcy to do whatever he could to mollify his sister, so that she would cease venting her frustration by sending him messages.  
  
There had been several occurrences this week where Darcy had seriously regretted Elizabeth Bennet’s absence; he had found himself thinking more often than not about what she would have said and done had she been involved in his enquiries. At the very least, had she been the one to help him instead of his cousin, she would have gathered the same information from the ladies, possibly more due to the fact a woman might be more likely to confide in another woman. Darcy sighed again. It was useless to regret that which was not. Endicott had received no new note during the week and had brushed aside Darcy’s apology when the latter had come to report what he had found: nothing. Having his tranquillity restored was what mattered most to him, and Darcy doubted that anything other than a new letter—or worse—would make the other man desirous of answers. For now, he must leave for Rosings. He hoped he could curtail his customary visit to a sennight rather than his usual fortnight, but it all depended upon Lady Catherine’s mysterious worry.  
  
**Somewhere between Bromley and London, Monday 30 March**  
  
Darcy had found more at Rosings than he had sought, and he was now coming back not only with the satisfaction of a work well done, but also with a bride, which might make his uncle cease bothering him. He was still rejoicing in his luck in having secured himself such a worthy partner at a time when he had feared he would have to make his enquiries alone—Fitzwilliam had proven to be a dreadful associate and he would not do the mistake to renew _that_ experience.  
  
Now that they were on their last leg of travel, it was time to apprise Elizabeth about the situation they were about to encounter in London. Darcy did so while they were in the carriage, with the occasional help from his cousin who had come with them rather than staying with an irate aunt and a marriage-minded cousin.  
  
The Colonel appeared to think that Darcy’s ideas about what could be entertaining for his betrothed were more than a little strange, but as his endeavours to change the subject had been foiled, he had stuck to whatever piece of gossip was related to Endicott in order to keep his audience’s attention. Miss Bennet seemed entranced by the affair.  
  
“Another case about notes, so soon after the one we left? You must admit it is quite extraordinary.”  
  
Darcy shrugged. “Not more so than our stumbling over a corpse immediately after having understood how another person died.”  
  
“There is some truth here,” conceded Elizabeth.  
  
“What is this about corpses?” exclaimed Colonel Fitzwilliam.  
  
“Did Mr Darcy not tell you? We met with a couple while he was residing in my neighbourhood.”  
  
“He did not—”  
  
“I certainly did. You were not listening.”  
  
“You cannot expect me to listen carefully to you when you speak about your mysteries,” his cousin went on, laughing. “I dare say you will have to speak about other subjects if you wish to retain your lady’s attentions.”  
  
He winked at Elizabeth, then looked outside the window, not noticing that she was staring at him incredulously. She then met Darcy’s gaze, who shrugged and rolled his eyes. They exchanged a smile.  
  
“I find I quite like listening to my betrothed’s theories, Colonel,” she eventually said sweetly.  
  
“Well, to each his own, I imagine.”  
  
They had now reached London and would soon arrive in Gracechurch Street, where Elizabeth would stay with her uncle and aunt. As a result, she and Darcy would only have limited privacy, but he hoped they could solve Endicott’s problem—should the man still desire it—before she had to return to Longbourn. Elizabeth had assured him that their engagement would be enough for the Gardiners to leave them some freedom of movement. If an evening out was planned, she thought her aunt would like to join them, but morning calls would not cause a problem.  
  
After Elizabeth was left in the care of her family and Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to his father’s town-house, Darcy arrived in his own house, looking forward to a quiet evening, only to be told that his uncle, Lord ——, was waiting for him in the library. Rather than change, he decided to see him directly.  
  
“Nephew!” his uncle boomed as soon as he saw him entering the room. “I was not sure about the time you would leave, and came early in order not to miss your arrival. Catherine was painfully precise in some of her writing, while leaving other parts of the story completely unaddressed.”  
  
“You received a letter from my aunt telling you of our earlier return?”  
  
“She sent it express,” the Earl chuckled. “She was most seriously displeased at what she called your act of sedition against family duty.”  
  
Darcy braced himself against another outburst about disappointment and unfulfilled expectations, only to be caught off-guard by his uncle’s next exclamations.  
  
“Congratulations, my boy! So all you needed to find a wife was search elsewhere than in town, eh?”  
  
“I … suppose so?”  
  
“You will have to tell me some day how you fell in love with her. And I do not want to hear prevarications or vague sentences about how you cannot point the hour when you fell for her charms. I would be awfully disappointed. Come, Nephew,” Lord —— continued when Darcy threw him a confused glance, “it is not every day that one witnesses true love transcending the barriers of Society!”  
  
“I guess not.”  
  
  
“Now, tell me about the future Mrs Darcy? Catherine tells me that she has four sisters. It bodes well for you, I cannot wait until you give me a troop of great-nephews!”  
  
“Aunt Catherine was _complimentary_?”  
  
“Oh, no, nothing of the kind. I just read between the lines; there is actual information to be found that way.”  
  
Darcy could not deny this.  
  
“Now, I may have had some doubts about you settling for a country girl with no connections, but if she can hold herself against Catherine, she will do well with the _Ton_. Do not worry about your aunt. She will stop ranting soon, not that she will ever share her opinion outside family, and eventually come around. It might be advisable to name your first daughter after her to accelerate the process.” Lord —— winked and rose. “I will leave you now. Bring your young lady to call on me tomorrow, will you?”  
  
Without waiting for an answer, he departed, leaving his befuddled nephew behind him.  
  
**Gracechurch street, the following morning**  
  
Darcy arrived at Gracechurch Street as the family was still at breakfast. He was not expected, and his arrival caused quite a stir until Elizabeth explained that she had agreed to marry him. Apparently, she had not had the opportunity to share her news with her aunt and uncle—Jane Bennet did not appear in the least surprised, but whether it was because her sister spoke to her or because she found it natural that he should admire Elizabeth, he could not tell.  
  
He was invited to share the family's meal, and found the Gardiners to be clever and well-informed people whom he would be happy to call his relations.  
  
“Why did you not tell us yesterday, Lizzy?”  
  
"I wanted to tell you without the children being present, Aunt."  
  
"And they were so happy to see you that we had not a moment's peace yesterday evening," Mrs Gardiner chuckled.  
  
"Yes. I would have told you now that they are safely with their governess, but Mr Darcy’s arrival changed the plans," Elizabeth answered with a smile, before turning towards her betrothed. "I did not expect you so soon!"  
  
"I did not expect to come that soon either. I had an unexpected visitor when I arrived home yesterday and modified my plans as a result."  
  
"Oh?" Elizabeth's brow creased. "Was it that friend of yours? Nothing bad, I hope?"  
  
"No, to both. My uncle ambushed me in order to congratulate me for our betrothal."  
  
"Did he? This is quite a surprise."  
  
"It is, albeit a welcome one. He wishes to make your acquaintance as soon as this can be done, hence my coming here today. That is, if I may borrow your niece this morning?" he added, looking at Mr and Mrs Gardiner.  
  
"Of course you may," the lady of the house answered. "As long as she agrees and is back in time for dinner."  
  
Nods from Darcy and Elizabeth were all the answers that were needed, and they left soon afterwards.  
  
**Somewhere in Mayfair**  
  
"So, you borrow me for a whole morning. Dare I hope that your uncle is not the only one on whom we will call?"  
  
“He is not. We will call on the Endicotts afterwards.”  
  
“Do you believe it can be of use?”  
  
“I hope it will. We had been focused on identifying an external threat and found nothing—”  
  
“—thus you will now look at what is happening inside of the house.”  
  
Elizabeth expected Darcy to elaborate, or at least confirm her conclusion, but he did not. When, for the sixth time, she saw him look at her, open his mouth, blush, and turn his head, she had had enough.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Mmmh?”  
  
“You are fidgeting. Just say what is on your mind.”  
  
“I do _not_ fidget!”  
  
“You usually do not,” conceded Elizabeth, “which means there must be something bothering you that you do not know how to introduce.”  
  
Darcy sighed. “You read me well.”  
  
“So?” she answered, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“As I told Mr Gardiner earlier, my uncle is aware of our betrothal and welcoming of it.”  
  
“How is it a bad thing?”  
  
“He is overly enthusiastic for the match and I worry he will overwhelm you.”  
  
She laughed.  
  
“I am serious! If his behaviour yesterday was any indication, he will minutely enquire about your ancestors in order to add them to the family books and will name our children before I even ask your father for his consent!”  
  
“I will be disappointed on that score,” said a still laughing Elizabeth.  
  
“This is the problem! We cannot tell him!”  
  
His obvious worry had made Elizabeth turn serious, but she still had no idea where the conversation was heading.  
  
“Uncle Earl has the notion that ours is the most romantic love match that ever was, and I half expect him to spout nonsense about princes and shepherdesses!”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And I fear it will spur you to run away as fast as you can!”  
  
“Why should you do such a thing?”  
  
“Because you would refuse to put up with his meddling ways!”  
  
“Oh, please. Have you not met my mother?”  
  
“She is a picture of restraint compared to how Uncle Earl was yesterday!”  
  
“I am now forewarned, and I will not run,” she said with a smile, before something he had said earlier struck her. “You call your uncle _Uncle Earl_?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
Elizabeth tilted her head on the side, and Darcy felt compelled to give a more detailed answer.  
  
“When my grandfather died, it had been impressed on me that my uncle was now an Earl and that the proper way to address him had changed. I was about nine and misconstructed the instructions. Being called “Uncle Earl” made my uncle laugh, though, and he bade me to continue doing so. I imagine it helped that —— sounds rather silly when pronounced.”  
  
Elizabeth was still laughing when they entered the drawing-room where Eustace Fitzwilliam, 4th Earl of ——, received them.  
  
“You are as lovely as I expected, my dear,” he said after the proper introductions were made. “No wonder Darcy is smitten!”  
  
“Uncle—”  
  
“Hush, Nephew. You may act all stoic and polite, but you do not fool me even for one minute. I hope you will not take offence, dear”—at this Elizabeth braced herself—”but what else but the deepest love could induce Darcy, who has been told time and again by his family that he was to marry well in regard both to fortune and connections, into matrimony with someone with unknown relations and nary a penny to her name? Welcome into the family, Miss Bennet!”  
  
“Thank you?”  
  
“Now, by what name do your relations address you?”  
  
“Usually Lizzy, my Lord.”  
  
“Do call me Uncle Earl, Lizzy!”  
  
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Darcy, who shrugged.  
  
“As you wish, my—Uncle Earl.”  
  
Darcy’s silence called for retaliation, and Elizabeth promised herself that he would be present when her mother was appraised of her news. She smirked. Now her betrothed appeared worried. _Serves him right!_ Her future uncle continued to ramble happily and had, indeed, made suggestions for their offsprings’ names. She was happy to confirm that, indeed, Eustace, Catherine, or Philomena would be lovely names for their first or second born.  
  
“And you _will_ have to be properly introduced to the _Ton_ , of course!”  
  
“Indeed, Uncle. We are to call on the Endicotts this morning—Endicott asked that I do so when I was back from Rosings.”  
  
“The Endicotts? Are you certain that this is … wise?”  
  
Elizabeth frowned. Mysterious letters aside, she had understood that the Endicotts were a decent and proper family.  
  
“I am certain it is, Uncle,” she heard Darcy say.  
  
“Hm. Maybe you are right. It would not do for a young lady to learn of her disappointed hopes in a public setting. Which was the one on whom you were calling?”  
  
“None!”  
  
“Keep your secrets, then,” Lord —— said with a wink. “Lizzy, I would not want you to feel ambushed when you call there; you must prepare yourself for something dreadful. Now, off you go! I expect you to call on me again before you leave for your father’s home, and I might even call at your uncle’s before that.”  
  
Elizabeth managed to withhold her giggles until the carriage was on its way.  
  
“Forgive me,” she said once she had calmed herself enough to speak clearly. “It was so … unexpected!”  
  
“Quite,” her companion answered.  
  
“Now, tell me: from which one of the young ladies must I protect myself?” she continued with a conspiratorial glance. Darcy groaned.  
  
“I did _not_ call on _them_!”  
  
“I know,” Elizabeth said with another giggle. “Still, it is the impression you gave your uncle. Do you know whether one—or more—of the Endicott misses thought you came for her or expected you would come back for her?”  
  
“I have no idea. But I promise I will not let them harm you.”  
  
When they arrived, however, misunderstandings of a romantic nature were the least of anyone’s worries. They were nearly turned away by the butler, when one of the Misses Endicott saw Darcy as she was passing through the hall and bade him inside. He and Elizabeth were led to a drawing-room where Mrs Endicott and her three daughters were gathered.  
  
The necessary introductions were made, and though Elizabeth saw disappointment appear briefly on the faces of the two eldest, their congratulations seemed sincere. Mrs Endicott was more direct.  
  
“So, tell me, Miss Bennet. How did you manage to step out of nowhere and catch the prize?”  
  
“Mr Darcy made me an offer I could not refuse,” said Elizabeth sweetly, keeping her face straight. The lady of the house huffed.  
  
“Do you come to gloat?”  
  
Her daughters shuffled uneasily in their seats.  
  
“Not at all, madam,” was the even answer.  
  
“Where did you meet?” the youngest Miss Endicott asked.  
  
“In Hertfordshire, where my father’s estate is.”  
  
“We reunited in Kent while I was visiting my aunt,” interjected Darcy. “I promised Endicott I would call on him on my return.”  
  
At this, the mood in the room shifted. Curiosity, vexation and envy gave way to embarrassment, grief and worry.  
  
“I am afraid my son is … indisposed,” the matriarch answered.  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a glance. “What happened?”  
  
“He collapsed this morning shortly after breakfast. The physician is still with him.”  
  
“You must go to him,” said Elizabeth. Her tone brooked no opposition, and she looked pointedly at Darcy. His unspoken mission was clear: he was to gather as much information as he could from the doctor and by his own observations, in order to give her a detailed report. He would have bet Pemberley that she would rather go herself but was held back by decorum.  
  
“If you will allow me?” he said, rising, and looking at his hostess. Mrs Endicott pinched her lips, but before she could otherwise answer, one of her daughters—he thought it was the eldest—cried:  
  
“Please do!”  
  
“The physician shooed us out of the room, saying that our feminine sensibilities must be preserved,” scoffed her younger sister. “It has been half an hour and we still have no news!”  
  
Darcy bowed, nodded at Elizabeth, and left the room.  
  
Left alone, the ladies fell silent. Before the stillness became uncomfortable, and in order to untie the tongues in the hope that it would lead to some clue, Elizabeth decided to speak about the first thing she saw, which happened to be a framed picture of a house ensconced in vegetation.  
  
“This is a lovely painting. Who is the artist?”  
  
“Constable, of course. We commissioned him for some views of the house.”  
  
“Oh, this is your estate? The place looks delightful. Where is it situated?”  
  
“In the north of Warwickshire. It has been in the family for generations, since the sixteenth century,” Mrs Endicott proudly said. Elizabeth nodded. “You may take a closer look if you wish.”  
  
“Thank you, ma’am.”  
  
Elizabeth endeavoured to conceal her annoyance at not having made any progress and rose to watch the picture. The artist’s depiction of the flora soon had her in awe; she recognised angelica, foxgloves, thistle, bilberries, deadly nightshade, honeysuckle, mallow, hemlock, and many other plants.  
  
“Do all these grow near the estate?”  
  
“Yes,” the youngest Miss Endicott said. “Mother uses some of them in her still-room. She has a talent with plants that we unfortunately do not share.”  
  
“The estate, Berry Hill, is named for its bilberry patches. They are so numerous near the house that we have become quite weary of the fruit,” continued the middle sister. “Not my brother, though—but even my mother eschewed the bilberry jam this morning.” _Could the jam have been tampered with? If so—how, and with what?_ At that moment, a pale Darcy entered the room again. Every head turned towards him.  
  
“He will live.”  
  
Relief was palpable.  
  
“Mr Brown said you could go to him. We should leave you now.”  
  
Unwilling to tarry, Darcy and Elizabeth had elected to walk the short distance that separated the the house from Darcy’s, where they arrived in half the time they would have needed had their pace been leisurely. Darcy did not slow on entering the house.  
  
“Thank you, Rodgers. This is Miss Bennet, your future mistress. We will be in my study,” he said as the man took their outer wear, before he all but dragged his betrothed further inside the house. Once the door was closed behind them, Elizabeth smirked.  
  
“I take it that you have news.”  
  
“Yes! Endicott received another note this week, and what happened this morning—the physician was unwilling to say it could be anything else than some excess of alcohol, or some unknown illness—I am certain he has been poisoned.”  
  
Belladonna, digitalis, and hemlock, all delightfully reproduced by a master artist, appeared in Elizabeth’s mind.  
  
“Explain.”  
  
“His symptoms were too unusual: nausea, dilated pupils and blurred vision, tachycardia, dryness of the skin, as well as delirium … How could all this be natural?”  
  
_Belladonna. There were deadly nightshades all around his country home…_  
  
“Bilberries,” she said, interrupting him.  
  
“Pardon? Bilberries are not poisonous!”  
  
“No, but the fruit of nightshade is, and the two are rather similar. His sister told me that he was the only one of the family with a fondness for the fruit.”  
  
“Could he have picked the wrong one by mistake?”  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. “The plants are dissimilar. In any case, it is too early for the fruits—on both plants.”  
  
“Oh,” said a deflated Darcy.  
  
Elizabeth rose. “We have to go back.”  
  
“Already? We still have several hours before dinner.”  
  
“Not at my uncle’s. At the Endicotts’ house. We have to discover how the belladonna was administered while the event is still fresh in their memories. I suspect the jam, but it could be something else.”  
  
“Why the jam?”  
  
“Bilberry jam. He was apparently the only one to help himself to it—but perhaps some of the servants also ate some.”  
  
“If the fruits are similar, could children have mistakenly collected the wrong ones, and jam made with poisonous fruit?”  
  
“No. Heat destroys the poison. The resulting preserves would be quite innocuous.”  
  
“How do you even know _that_?”  
  
“You know of my fondness for botany,” she shrugged. “In addition to reading, I pestered Mr Jones with questions about the properties of plants. Tincture could be made out of it, though.”  
  
“Endicott told me his mother was rather fond of her stillroom,” mused Darcy.  
  
“Her daughters said the same, but why would a mother endeavour to harm her child?” asked Elizabeth, aghast.  
  
“It seems unlikely, but we will not learn more by staying here. Let us go back.”  
  
Once they were at Endicott’s house again, they insisted to be let in, and the assurance that they could shed some light on what had befallen his master made the butler relent. He informed them, with a glance at Elizabeth, that the ladies were still at the young man’s bedside.  
  
“Miss Bennet will come with me.”  
  
Having said that, Darcy climbed the stairs, Elizabeth following him as closely as she could. He waited for her by a door, which he pushed open, eliciting a collective gasp from the ladies gathered inside the room.  
  
“Darcy, are you back already?” said his acquaintance with a smile. “And with your lady! I am sorry I could not welcome you more properly.”  
  
Mrs Endicott glared.  
  
“What are you doing here?” she snarled.  
  
“Elizabeth thinks that Endicott has been deliberately fed belladonna.”  
  
“Nightshade?” said Mrs Endicott holding her hand to her heart. “Could it be an accident? Why, the jam—”  
  
“—cannot be, by itself, responsible for the poisoning, ma’am. We need to question your household to determine how Mr Endicott was dosed.”  
  
“This is ridiculous!”  
  
“This goes on par with the threatening notes Endicott has received,” Darcy answered. Mrs Endicott paled.  
  
“T-threats? We cannot stay in London. We will leave for Warwickshire as soon as my son is well enough to travel.”  
  
“Mother, no. I intend to call on Miss Maxwell when she is back.”  
  
“Miss Maxwell?” Mrs Endicott scoffed. “You are far too good for her.”  
  
“You said the same of every young lady Lawrence expressed an interest in, Mama,” chimed in the youngest Miss Endicott. “Does nobody find favour with you?”  
  
“Nobody is good enough to be mistress of Berry Hill in my stead,” she sneered.  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth looked at each other.  
  
“Mrs Endicott, who has access to your tinctures?”  
  
“ _Excuse me_?”  
  
“Mama’s tinctures are always locked in a cabinet; she is the only one to have its key,” Miss Endicott said as her mother glared at her. “I imagine, however, that such tinctures can be acquired easily.”  
  
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, pinching her lips. “However, Mr Darcy’s previous enquiries have shown that whoever poisoned you, sir, came from inside.”  
  
“I am certain that it must be nothing but a dreadful mistake,” insisted Mrs Endicott. “The children in charge of the berry gathering must have picked the wrong ones.”  
  
“Had it been the case, your son would not have been poisoned,” countered Elizabeth. “Only fresh fruit or tincture would have yielded such a result. Where are the remains of the jam?”  
  
“What is it to you?”  
  
“I would like Miss Bennet to have access to it,” Darcy interjected.  
  
“It is impossible. The dish fell of the ground, and nothing could be salvaged,” the youngest Miss Endicott said.  
  
“Indeed? And whose fault was it?”  
  
No one answered, but the siblings glanced uneasily at their mother, who was the picture of indignation.  
  
“Can I not be clumsy without it being considered a proof of wrongdoing? What would I have to gain in my son’s demise?”  
  
“Endicott is _not_ dead,” said Darcy. “The dose was high enough to make him sick, but he pulled through. Perhaps it should be considered as a warning.”  
  
“Would you, Mr Endicott, be inclined to continue partaking in the Season after this incident?” asked Elizabeth all of a sudden.  
  
“It is doubtful,” sighed Endicott. Elizabeth wasn’t looking at him when he spoke, but at his mother, and the look of triumph on her face was unmistakeable.  
  
“ _You_ would have much to lose if your son married, would you not?”  
  
“I do not understand what you mean.”  
  
“Mr Endicott, were you not in search of a wife?”  
  
The gentleman nodded.  
  
“Was your mother in favour of such a plan?”  
  
The siblings all appeared horrified.  
  
“ _Nobody_ is good enough to replace me! I will not let my son follow your footsteps and be taken in by an adventuress!”  
  
Darcy tensed, but a hand of Elizabeth on his arm stilled the retort he was about to make and allowed Mrs Endicott to continue unhindered.  
  
“He is courting Miss Maxwell. _Miss Maxwell_! What does she know about running an estate or planning dinner or honouring her new family? _Nothing_!”  
  
“Why would you not encourage your son to pursue another young lady, then?”  
  
“Did you not listen to me?” she said, more and more riled up. “Not one of them would be good enough. Discouraging the girl would not be enough. I had to make him retire. He left me no other option.”  
  
“Mother!”  
  
Mrs Endicott appeared to realise what she had just admitted.  
  
“We will go back to Berry Hill,” Endicott said. His mother looked smug, until he added: “I will call on Miss Maxwell beforehand. I will not disgrace the family by making your actions known, but once we are in Warwickshire, I will have you settled in a new set of rooms and watched closely. It goes without saying that the stillroom will be closed to you.”  
  
“How _dare_ you?”  
  
“How dare I consider my own happiness?”  
  
His sisters were quietly crying.  
  
“We should leave you,” Darcy said. Endicott nodded.  
  
“Thank you for your help. I shudder when I think what would have happened had my mother not been pushed to reveal her scheme.”  
  
Darcy nodded as his acquaintance went on.  
  
“Let me congratulate you and Miss Bennet on your upcoming nuptials. Miss Bennet, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope we will see each other again in more pleasant circumstances.”  
  
The ride back to Gracechurch Street was made in companionable silence, Darcy and Elizabeth exchanging satisfied glances from time to time. The time for the evening meal was approaching, and Darcy was easily convinced to share the family’s meal. As they found themselves alone in the hall after supper when he was taking his leave from his betrothed, Darcy shook Elizabeth’s hand, but did not release her. She looked at him, and looking back straight into her eye, he said:  
  
“You truly are a treasure, Elizabeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't detail the modus operandi, there is what I envisioned: the jam was a diversion and had not been tainted (some servant could have been poisoned too, and an ill servant is a hindrance). The tincture was put in his cup of tea. Of course, since it's not pat of the actual story, you are free to imagine whatever Alternative Possibilities you like better. :-)


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a case, but I hope you'll like it nonetheless. :-)

**Longbourn, 21 April 1812**  
  
Elizabeth and Jane, accompanied by Darcy, had made their way back to Longbourn. The plan of having the ladies travel by post before being picked up by the Bennet carriage at a convenient posting inn had been discarded long ago when Elizabeth had come back from Hunsford earlier than Maria Lucas. The latter, with whom Lady Catherine had no quarrel, would be brought back to London by her ladyship later in the Season.  
  
The party took the Darcy carriage all the way from London to Longbourn, where a pouting Lydia waited for them. She ranted about how she had been denied the pleasure of coming to meet them at the George and therefore had missed an occasion for a bit of shopping outside of Meryton. Mr Darcy quickly escaped to the book-room, glad that he had an excuse to do so: though he had acquired a marriage licence in London, he still had to ask Mr Bennet for his consent to marry his daughter.  
  
The interview did not go as smoothly as Darcy would have wished—or even imagined.  
  
“You want to marry my Lizzy?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Truly?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Is she well?”  
  
“I believe so.”  
  
This was met with silence.  
  
“Would you like to peruse the settlement I had my man of business draw up?”  
  
Mr Bennet nodded and took the proffered document, whose pages he turned absently, before looking up in bewilderment.  
  
“You would settle all that on my Lizzy?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You _know_ that she brings nothing to the match?”  
  
“Nothing but herself.”  
  
That answer, the calmness with which it had been delivered, made Mr Bennet pause. “You truly esteem her.”  
  
“I would not marry her if I did not,” the young man replied. “Do we have your consent and blessing?”  
  
“I cannot see how I would refuse you; still, I would feel better if I could speak with Lizzy about it.”  
  
“Of course. Do you wish me to call for her?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
Elizabeth was not far. Once she had supervised the placement of her trunks in her room, she had come back to the hallway that led to her father’s book-room, where she was hovering. Darcy found her immediately on stepping out of the room, and once he told her that her father desired to speak to her, she stepped inside.  
  
“Elizabeth,” said her father after she had closed the door. “Are you sure that you know what you are doing?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“To be sure, you will be rich—richer than your mother ever dreamed any of you would be—but will you be happy? I did not think you were particularly fond of Mr Darcy.”  
  
“Surely, you saw that we got along well last autumn.”  
  
“I did, but it did not follow that my imagination jumped from tolerance to matrimony,” her father chuckled. “What do you feel for him? Do you like him?”  
  
“I do. I feel certain I would be happy at Mr Darcy’s side, Father. I esteem him, and he esteems me. He respects my opinion, and we have had more than a few exhilarating discussions already.”  
  
“You are, I see, determined to have him.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“If it is so, you may go inform your mother—though you may wish to wait until your young man is gone to do so, least she frightens him away.”  
  
“He is not so squeamish that he cannot bear her effusions, Papa; in any case he will not leave.”  
  
“Will he not?”  
  
“We plan to marry within one week, two at most, and Mr Darcy also wished to visit Mr Bingley.”  
  
“Why so soon? And why, if he wishes to see him, does he not stay at Netherfield with his friend?”  
  
Elizabeth, not knowing how to say to her father that the main reason Mr Darcy and she planned to marry quickly was to facilitate their travelling together should something arise, chose not to answer that part of the question.  
  
“Mr Bingley is barely out of mourning his sister. Besides, Mr Darcy and I are betrothed, thus people will not wonder at him residing in Longbourn.” Mr Bennet scowled. “Fear not, Papa. He will not invade your library, and even if he did, he would merely avail himself of a book and leave you in peace.”  
  
Mr Bennet smiled ruefully. “He is a better choice for a son-in-law than Mr Collins would have been.”  
  
“Aye, on many scores,” his daughter answered with a smile.  
  
“Off you go, child.”  
  
On exiting her father’s room, Elizabeth saw that Darcy had taken her previous position. When he saw her, he stopped pacing and looked at her, relaxing when she smiled at him.  
  
“Shall we go to my mother? Though perhaps we should decide on a wedding date first.”  
  
“Do you have a preference?”  
  
“I was thinking Wednesday next week? You do have the licence, do you not?”  
  
“I do. I will see the vicar tomorrow, and if he is free that day, Wednesday morning it will be.”  
  
“If he is not, any other morning of that week will do.”  
  
“Very well. Lead the way, madam!”  
  
They entered the drawing-room and found only Mrs Bennet who, having learned from her eldest daughter about the gentleman’s presence, welcomed Darcy in a friendly manner and enquired about his health and the things he had done since they last saw each other. Given that Mrs Bennet was not aware of his favoured pastime and that Elizabeth had told him that her mother would frown on knowing her daughter involved in unsavoury business, the conversation was somewhat stilted. Mrs Bennet, however, did not appear to hold that against him.  
  
“How long will you stay in Hertfordshire, sir?”  
  
“A little more than one week,” Darcy answered, exchanging a glance with Elizabeth. Before she could say a thing, her mother had continued.  
  
“You will stay at Longbourn, I hope? I will have the guest room readied for you. I am sorry that it had been given to Mr Collins all these months ago!”  
  
“I did not mind, Mrs Bennet.”  
  
“Actually, Mama, his having inhabited my room allowed Mr Darcy to know of my interests, and he has eventually singled me out as the companion of his future life.”  
  
Mrs Bennet started. “Lizzy?”  
  
“Miss Elizabeth has agreed to marry me.”  
  
“Next week.”  
  
Mrs Bennet’s reaction was unlike anything the young people could have imagined: she was silent. For a whole minute—though it certainly felt more.  
  
“Is it true? Lizzy? Mr Darcy! I am delighted—but I cannot possibly plan a wedding breakfast in so short a time. What would the neighbours say? We need at least five courses. Oh, and the wedding clothes! Are you quite certain that you cannot wait more? Three to four weeks would be a far more reasonable length for an engagement!”  
  
“We have been engaged over three weeks already, Mrs Bennet, though your husband’s consent was given only today.”  
  
“Oh. Oh! Did you go shopping for your trousseau with your aunt, Lizzy?” Her daughter nodded, and she went on. “Then you must show me all the purchases you have brought back with you, for I must ensure that they are suitable. Mrs Gardiner does not know the best warehouses, I am sure!”  
  
Mr Darcy wondered how Mrs Gardiner, who dressed in the latest fashions and lived in London, could know less about modistes and fabrics than her sister who lived in the country all year, but wisely refrained to voice his perplexity.  
  
“I shall, Mama. But there are only a few dresses. More will be made after we are married.” _By a country seamstress using sturdy material that can be washed without being ruined, or colours less likely to show dirt or stains._  
  
“Good. Mrs Darcy! How well that sounds. And you will be able to throw your sisters in the path of other rich men!”  
  
“That will have to wait, for we plan to travel around England for a time first.”  
  
Mrs Bennet sighed. “Mr Bennet and I did not go on a wedding trip. Which of your sisters will you take with you? Jane—but no, not with Mr Bingley so near. Lydia, perhaps?”  
  
“No, Mama,” Elizabeth answered. “We prefer to be by ourselves.”  
  
“Ah, young love! Of course you will want to be alone,” said a smiling Mrs Bennet with a wink. In that moment, she appeared eerily similar to Lord ——. The conversation veered on jewels (Elizabeth admitted to a mild curiosity about the family collection), carriages (she recognised that a well-sprung curricle would be an asset to travel quickly from a place to another) and Darcy’s house in London (where news would reach them more easily than at Pemberley). Mrs Bennet was not so crass as to mention pin-money in Mr Darcy’s presence, but Elizabeth knew it was in her mother’s mind—and she herself looked forward to acquiring a microscope and other practical things.  
  
**The paths around Longbourn, Saturday 25 April in the afternoon**  
  
As the weather was fair, Elizabeth and Darcy had gone for a walk in order to distract themselves from the maelstrom of wedding preparations. Now and then, she pointed out an interesting specimen of plant, while the gentleman endeavoured to warn her of the the reception she might encounter from a handful of disappointed people in some drawing-rooms. It drew a frown to her face.  
  
“Stop wrinkling your pretty nose. You will deal admirably with this world, of that I am certain.”  
  
She huffed. “Well, it is no wonder that you are so disagreeable when in society!”  
  
“Alas,” he answered with a hint of a smile, “I fear I do not have the necessary patience for dealing with unwanted attention.”  
  
“Is this the reason why you can abide me?”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“I was—am—definitely not fawning all over you. That must have appealed to you!”  
  
There was no denying that it had. They strolled aimlessly along the fields in companionable silence, occasionally glancing at the other when they thought they had the least chance of being caught. Elizabeth appeared nervous, which, in turn, worried Darcy.  
  
“Is there something wrong, Elizabeth?”  
  
“No. Yes. I do not know?”  
  
“Tell me what troubles you,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She stopped and turned to face him.  
  
“I am wondering whether this is such a good idea after all. What if you fell in love and came to resent being tied to me? After all, though I know I have been of use in gathering information, I still find it hard to fathom that you do not have other acquaintances who could do the same thing, whether they are aware of it or not.”  
  
“I have—but I doubt any would help me to analyse them half as much as you do. I have come to rely on your judgement, and I would be loathe to part with such a worthy partner. As for marriage … truth to be told, I never really wished to marry. It appears that in my circles, happiness in an union is a matter of chance, and it is not a risk I was ready to take. Truly, I could never regret having you by my side.”  
  
She nodded and went ahead. They had walked a further dozen more paces when Darcy spoke again.  
  
“Is that what you are afraid of for yourself?”  
  
She did not answer at first and appeared thoughtful more than anything else. Eventually, she shook her head.  
  
“No. I have been out nearly five years and have not met anyone I wished to marry—well, maybe I could have, but any inclination I had was starved away quickly. I am afraid that penniless and impertinent Miss Elizabeth Bennet of nowhere was not a very good prospect for charming young men,” she said with a shrug. “Should I meet someone I feel I could easily fall in love with, it will be easy to remind myself that he would never have offered for me had I been free, and that I am better off as your partner.”  
  
Their walk had led them to Netherfield.  
  
“Will you visit Mr Bingley?”  
  
That gentleman had been surprised when, the previous week, Darcy had called on him and shared the news of his betrothal. He had nonetheless accepted to stand as a witness for his friend.  
  
“Not today, I would rather walk in your company. I believe your mother wished to confer with you about the flowers on Monday, and I will be sure to see him _then_.”  
  
Elizabeth laughed, and they made their way back to Longbourn.  
  
**Longbourn, that evening**  
  
Elizabeth was plaiting her hair before going to bed when her mother burst into her room.  
  
“Lizzy, dear, I _must_ speak to you on a matter of some delicacy and I would rather not wait until the eve of your wedding to do so, in case you have questions.”  
  
“Could you not speak of it earlier in the day? I own I am tired and eager to sleep.”  
  
“I could not speak about marital intimacy in front of your sisters!”  
  
“Oh. Of course not. However, it will not be necessary for you to speak to me, because ... I … have already received a letter from Aunt Gardiner!” That much was true, though Mrs Gardiner had not written a line about _that_ subject.  
  
“That was considerate of her, but are you certain you do not have any questions to ask?”  
  
Elizabeth shook her head.  
  
“Very well. Come to me if you feel you need additional information, and just remember that any discomfort will not last.”  
  
Lizzy nodded, and her mother left the room.  
  
  
**Longbourn, Tuesday 28 April in the evening**  
  
Tuesday had brought the Gardiners to Longbourn. The day was spent in conversation regarding the wedding preparations—the men had, at some point, retreated to Mr Bennet’s book-room under Elizabeth’s envious gaze. That evening, when everyone retired for the night, Mrs Gardiner bade her niece come to the guest room. It had first been occupied by Darcy, but the gentleman had volunteered to move to his betrothed’s room while Elizabeth moved to Jane’s in order to free the guest room for the Gardiners. Elizabeth found only her aunt; her uncle was sharing a glass of port with his brother in law.  
  
“Lizzy, I thought I should have a conversation with you.”  
  
“Did we not speak all day?”  
  
“Yes, but I meant a more _private_ conversation.”  
  
“Oh! If it is what I think, my mother already spoke to me.”  
  
“She did?”  
  
Elizabeth nodded.  
  
“And you have no apprehension, no further questions?”  
  
The young lady shook her head.  
  
“Oh, well,” Mrs Gardiner said, patting her niece’s hand. “I’ll just add that once the awkwardness is past, this can be quite agreeable, and no matter what your mother says about rich men, I doubt Mr Darcy would be the kind of man to take a mistress.”  
  
As she went back to her room, Elizabeth hoped that she would never be asked for her impressions regarding the intimacies of marriage. Well—not before she had found and read a book on the subject. She wondered whether Darcy would have been subjected to such a speech and suspected that, being a man and his sex being granted more freedom, he would not have been. Remembering the last part of her aunt’s advice, she stilled. Darcy had told her he was not interested in _marriage_ to another woman, but what about straying? They had never mentioned this.  
  
She resolutely went to her childhood room and entered. Mr Darcy’s valet had not yet come to prepare his master for the night, and the gentleman himself was stretched out on the bed with a book. He looked at Elizabeth with astonishment.  
  
“Elizabeth? What are you doing here?”  
  
“I need to speak with you.”  
  
“Yes?” he said, closing the book and raising.  
  
“I do not know how to phrase this. You might find this distasteful.”  
  
“You have doubts again?”  
  
“No, we merely need to talk.”  
  
“About?”  
  
“We spoke the other day about not regretting marrying the other,” she said. Taking a deep breath, she continued hurriedly, “However, we did not address faithfulness.”  
  
“Do you plan to possibly have an affair someday?” he asked, tilting his head.  
  
“No! I intend to keep the vows I am to take tomorrow, though perhaps not exactly in the spirit they are intended.”  
  
“Why, then, would you expect me to act otherwise?”  
  
A single glance allowed her to see that he was not angry. A little vexed, perhaps, but mostly curious. She dropped on the bed and shrugged. He sat beside her.  
  
“I escaped a conversation with my aunt, but she still managed to imply that men in your circles have mistresses.”  
  
“I cannot speak for all men, Elizabeth, but as far as I am concerned you can rest easy. I do not intend to be unfaithful.”  
  
She shrugged again.  
  
“I was not uneasy with the idea. It is just that I realised that I did not even know whether you had a mistress.”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“Well, had you had one I would have hoped for an introduction.” He rolled his eyes while she continued. “Snippets of conversation I overheard between my mother and Aunt Philips referred to men having _needs_ , whatever that means, that would lead them to be unfaithful if their wives did not—but I digress. I came to see you because I thought it would be better to know what to expect before the wedding rather than after, that is all. Thank you for humouring me.”  
  
“You are welcome, Elizabeth.” Darcy seemed serious, but Elizabeth could see he was barely restraining his laughter. At that moment, Smith entered the room. On seeing her, he made to retreat, when she spoke.  
  
“Stay—I will not detain you further, Mr Darcy. Have a good night’s rest.”  
  
“The same to you, Miss Bennet. We will meet tomorrow at the altar.”  
  
She winked at him and was gone.


	6. Case 5 - Homicide on Honeymoon, or Wedding Trip Interrupted (Not That They Minded)

**Longbourn’s drive, Wednesday 29 April**  
  
The wedding had passed in what had felt a whirlwind, and after having received the congratulations of the neighbourhood and partaken in the wedding breakfast that Mrs Bennet had prepared with much care, the newlyweds were now on their way.  
  
“Where are we to go?” Elizabeth asked. “South? North?”  
  
“You mean London or Pemberley.”  
  
“Yes!” she huffed.  
  
“We shall stop in London for the night before continuing our journey,” answered her husband—what a strange word it was!  
  
Elizabeth frowned. “London is not on the way from Hertfordshire to Derbyshire.”  
  
“I must commend you for your knowledge of English roads. Who said we were going to Pemberley?”  
  
“ _Where_ are we going?” she asked with a scowl.  
  
“Where is your sense of adventure?” Darcy retorted, chuckling.  
  
“It has momentarily taken its leave,” his wife replied with a pout, crossing her arms, which did nothing to reduce his hilarity. Eventually, she could not help but laugh herself.  
  
“Now, will you not tell me?”  
  
“I am afraid I shall not, else our destination would not be a surprise any more—and do not tell me you dislike surprises, for I should not believe you.”  
  
Elizabeth sighed dramatically. “Will you not have mercy on me?”  
  
“Where would be the fun in that?”  
  
“I cannot believe you are being more obstinate than me. Very well. When, then, do you plan to tell me?”  
  
“Sometime tomorrow.”  
  
“Will you not be more specific?”  
  
“I should like to see whether you can guess it first.”  
  
“Fair enough,” she said after a pause. “Will you tell me at least the purpose of this trip?”  
  
“Pleasure, of course. Is that not what a wedding trip is supposed to be about?”  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
“Think, Elizabeth.”  
  
She glared at him.  
  
“You do not expect that I should pass an occasion to make you exercise your brain?”  
  
“But you did not give me any hint!”  
  
“ _Au contraire_ , my dear. I just gave you one.” On seeing her blank stare, he added: “You disappoint me, Elizabeth. Have you already forgotten what I said?”  
  
She frowned again and appeared to immerse herself in her thoughts for a handful of moments.  
  
“You only said it was meant to be a pleasure trip.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And that was all.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“This is an awfully vague hint!”  
  
“Not when one considers the direction of your interests.”  
  
“As stimulating and satisfying as solving mysteries are, I should not consider seeking them a _pleasurable_ endeavour.”  
  
“Neither would I—but you have _other_ interests.”  
  
“Not much—oh! Plants? Will you lead me through all the most famous gardens of England?” Elizabeth’s excitement was unmistakable.  
  
“No.”—his wife’s face fell—“Only some for now.”  
  
This earned him a brilliant smile, though she did not forget to scold him for being such a tease.  
  
“I learned from the master,” was his answer.  
  
The rest of the journey was spent in playful discussion. Elizabeth could not draw one more word from her husband about their upcoming trip and had him speak about his homes.  
  
**On the road west from London, Monday 3 May**  
  
Their evening in London had allowed Elizabeth to better acquaint herself with the people who were in Darcy’s employ, and now hers. There was a moment of awkwardness in the morning when the abigail Darcy had hired for her—the younger sister of Pemberley’s housekeeper, chosen for her discretion and loyalty, and just arrived from Derbyshire—had enquired about her comfort. Elizabeth had misunderstood the object of her concern at first and, when the maid had gone, wondered which of the two was more embarrassed.  
  
As the carriage went through the road tolls, Elizabeth idly wondered what Reynolds and Smith thought of their marriage.  
  
The Darcys travelled easily, stopping to visit a couple of estates with interesting greenhouses, orangeries, or rose gardens. On the fifth day, Darcy made the driver turn after they had gone through a little town in Gloucestershire.  
  
“Where are we now?”  
  
“We are nearing Highmoor Manor. The estate belongs to the father of a friend. It does not appear in any travelogue, but I have heard it boasts of a physic garden which might be of some interest to you.”  
  
Elizabeth smiled brightly. They had arrived in front of the steps, and Darcy was handing Elizabeth out when a young man turned the corner of the house. He appeared to have come directly from the stables, and Darcy recognised his friend.  
  
“Darcy!” the newcomer cried with a smile. “I should never have expected to see you here. Will you introduce me?” He did not hide his curiosity.  
  
“Elizabeth, let me introduce John Patterson to you; his father owns this estate. Patterson, this is my wife, Elizabeth Darcy.”  
  
Patterson had started at the information, but recovered and declared himself enchanted to meet the lady, adding:  
  
“I had learned from my father that Darcy had married. It came as a surprise! As far as I knew, he was not courting anyone when we were last in town.”  
  
“I met Mrs Darcy in the country,” Darcy explained. “Are your parents or Mrs Patterson at home?”  
  
“They will be tomorrow, along with my brother and some friends. Will you stay and meet them?”  
  
“I am not sure—”  
  
“Please? We shall have the opportunity to speak with less interruption than at the club. Moreover, Mama and Cathy will like meeting your wife without being swarmed by other ladies. I am sure the other ladies will also appreciate that opportunity.”  
  
Darcy chanced a look at Elizabeth, but could not discern what she thought.  
  
“Who else is expected?”  
  
“Harris and his sister, and Lord Blackwood. My parents kept talking about how delightful Lord —— found the new Mrs Darcy, they will be disappointed if they miss meeting with her.”  
  
“Mrs Darcy?”  
  
Elizabeth was far from thrilled at the idea of shortening her botanical tour, but she feared offending her husband’s friends and would rather leave the decision to Darcy. She looked at him inquiringly, and he leaned over her to whisper something in her ear. Elizabeth lightened, and Mr Patterson laughed.  
  
“I do not know what you told her, Darcy, but it appears you persuaded Mrs Darcy to agree to the scheme.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded while her husband chuckled. The three of them entered the house; the Darcys were shown to a drawing-room where they were offered tea while Patterson went to give the housekeeper instructions.  
  
"You are in luck! With so many people arriving tomorrow, the house will be quite full, but Miles tells me that one of the two rooms left has an attached dressing-room. I should not have dared to overrule my mother had it not been the case, but maybe you would not have minded it much,” he said with a wink when he came back.  
  
Elizabeth thought she would have minded, very much so, and decided to make sure there was a bed in that dressing-room.  
  
**Highmoor Manor, Monday 3 May**  
  
After dinner, when it was time for the men to share a glass of port, Elizabeth had asked whether it would be possible for her to visit the library. Her request was satisfied, and when Darcy came to retrieve her two hours later, she was perusing the first volume of _Species Plantarum_. His chuckle made her lift her head.  
  
“Oh, are you already done sharing gossip?”  
  
At this, he laughed.  
  
“It has been hours, Elizabeth. Furthermore, men do not _gossip_. We exchange news.”  
  
“Of course, you do,” she answered, putting her book aside.  
  
In the hall she met their host. As it was late and they had all travelled that day, they wished one another a good night before retiring. Once they were in their rooms, Darcy told Elizabeth more about their hosts. The elder Mr Patterson had been an acquaintance of Mr Darcy’s father, while his wife, Lady Mary, had been to the same finishing school as his aunt, Lady ——. The couple had three sons.  
  
“I met William Patterson at university, and through him his elder brother. They do have a much younger brother, Henry, who is of an age with my sister.”  
  
"John Patterson married the goddaughter of Lady Catherine a couple of years ago; I believe they have one or two daughters. Next is William Patterson, who studied law and is recently married to the daughter of a successful tradesman. I believe the family objected to his choice of a wife, but given his rank of birth he favoured money over connections when it came to choosing a bride.”  
  
“What of character?”  
  
“I am afraid this is rarely a determining factor in these matters. Still, I believe her to be a good sort of person. As for the guests, I am acquainted with the men. We used to shoot together. William Patterson and Blackwood are reasonably good marksmen; Harris has an excellent aim. His sister was presented perhaps two years ago; I cannot remember if I already met her. After a time, the newly out ladies seem all alike.” He paused and shook his head before continuing. “I am happy you agreed to stay, for this is indeed a good occasion to introduce you to some of the people we are bound to meet in London in a more intimate setting."  
  
“How could I not agree when you bribed me with a first edition of Linnaeus you did not own yourself?”  
  
He laughed. “You lost no time in finding these volumes. You were so immersed in this flora that I had to call you twice before you noticed me.”  
  
She blinked. “Did you?”  
  
“I did,” he said with a smile. “Did you find this edition very different from the others?”  
  
“I am not sure. I should need to compare it side by side with a more recent one.”  
  
“I can send Weston to retrieve mine if you so wish.”  
  
“If I find myself in need of occupation, I may hold you to that, Mr Darcy!” she said before Reynolds came out the dressing room—in which there was, as expected, a bed. Darcy entered it and found Smith ready to prepare for the night. Once it was done and both servants left, the gentleman stepped briefly into the bedroom in order to wish his wife a good night, and they both went to their respective beds.  
  
**Tuesday 4 May**  
  
At breakfast, Patterson told them that he had received word from the rest of his party; they were to arrive early in the afternoon. The Darcys toured the physic gardens in the morning, then separated to wait for the others: Elizabeth went to the library, while Darcy and their host played billiards.  
  
Eventually, the master of the estate was announced, and soon afterwards, everyone gathered in the drawing-room.  
  
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, dear,” Lady Mary exclaimed, holding Elizabeth’s hand after she had been introduced to her. “How lucky it was that John came early and was able to come across you and Mr Darcy!”  
  
Elizabeth liked both her and her husband instantly. In some ways, they reminded her of the Gardiners—older and from the first circles, of course, but sharing the ability to put anyone at ease.  
  
Her ladyship took care of the remaining introductions. Mrs John Patterson was a proud, fashionable lady, and Elizabeth thought she detected less warmth in her voice than in Lady Mary’s. If anything, Elizabeth was reminded of the lady’s godmother and namesake, Lady Catherine. Mr William Patterson was a charming young man whose manners reminded her of Mr Wickham and Colonel Fitzwilliam—the handsomeness of the former with the informed mind of the latter. Mrs William Patterson, in contrast, seemed rather uninteresting, but harmless enough. Contrarily to Mrs John Patterson, she appeared ill at ease in her surroundings, and Elizabeth wondered whether it was due to her character or the fact her husband’s family looked down upon her connections.  
  
Then there were the three guests who were not family. Lord Blackwood’s attention to the latest fashions was obvious, bringing parallels to Mr Hurst for Elizabeth, though since her husband spoke well of him, she trusted she would find in him a more interesting conversationalist. Mr Harris appeared amiable and unassuming, as was Miss Harris. Elizabeth could not help but smile on seeing the wistful looks she directed towards Mr Darcy and Mr William Patterson when she thought no one was looking.  
  
**Wednesday 5 May**  
  
Elizabeth was ensconced in the library with Linnaeus again when a commotion disturbed her. Going to the door, she saw servants running about, heard calls for a doctor, and witnessed other requests for the magistrate. On seeing a footman who appeared to have been given no instruction, she went to him.  
  
“What is the matter?”  
  
“Mrs William has been shot, ma’am. They say she is dead!”  
  
Elizabeth stilled. Given the season, a hunting accident was out. What had happened? She questioned the footman further, but he could not tell her much more. She resolved to go to her husband, and found him with Smith in the dressing room, changing from his riding clothes.  
  
“Have you heard?”  
  
“Heard what?”—he turned his head, and his valet’s efforts in tying his cravat were reduced to nothing—”Forgive me, Smith. I shall endeavour to stay still. There has been some unusual movement in the house, but I cannot tell you more.”  
  
“Have you not heard the reason for such activity?”  
  
“I presume it will not be long before I do,” he said, smiling, while Smith finished tying his cravat.  
  
“Mrs Patterson—Mrs _William_ Patterson—has been shot.”  
  
“Has she? How?”  
  
“From what I overheard, she was walking outside with her brother-in-law when it happened. I know nothing more—yet.”  
  
Freed from Smith’s hands, Darcy seated himself at the dressing table and wrote a couple of lines on paper. He sealed it, addressed it, and gave it to his valet to be sent by express. He then turned towards Elizabeth and, on facing her curious glance, appeared sheepish.  
  
“Let me guess: this note was sent to Colonel Forster’s replacement regarding Mr Wickham’s whereabouts?”  
  
The tips of Darcy’s ears reddened as he nodded. Elizabeth chuckled. Soon, her exp ****ression turned serious.  
  
“We shall have to leave. It would be unseemly for us to stay in a bereaved household. And yet …”  
  
“Yet, you wish we could stay in order to determine what exactly happened?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“I shall speak with Patterson. I think that it would be a good thing if Lord Blackwood and the Harrises stayed, too. Maybe they saw or heard something, and it would be better if they were around while we determine if they can help to shed some light on the situation.”  
  
“Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth asked as he was reaching for the handle. Her husband turned towards her. “Is it wrong that I rejoice that another affair fell into our lap without us having even looked for it?”  
  
“Let not our hosts hear you,” he replied with a small smile, and then he was gone.  
  
**Thursday 6 May**  
  
In the end, no one had left. The magistrate came but, in the absence of any lead, had been unable to do much. When Lord Blackwood had, at dinner, voiced his intention to leave, the elder Pattersons had begged him to stay and entreated the Harrises and the Darcys to do likewise. Elizabeth offered her services to help the ladies lay out the late Mrs Patterson; it appeared to her that Lady Mary and Mrs John Patterson were relieved at her proposition.  
  
A couple of hours later, she went in search of her husband and found him touring the gardens. After looking around to see whether someone could overhear her, she took a handkerchief out of her reticule and unfolded it, exposing a small, silvery object.  
  
“I managed to recover the bullet. What could you tell me?”  
  
Darcy picked it up and examined it, but there was not much he could learn.  
  
“It is too big to come from a pistol; it must have been shot from a rifle. I am afraid I cannot tell you more.”  
  
“Could a poacher have used those?”  
  
“And risk being caught because of the noise and the fact he travels with a rifle?”  
  
Elizabeth sighed.  
  
“It is so frustrating! So far, we have learned _nothing_. I believe, from the way Mrs Patterson was shot and what was reported of where she and John Patterson stood, that the shooter was in the prettyish kind of little wilderness not far from the house. Will you go there this morning and look for clues?”  
  
“I shall. What do you plan to do meanwhile?”  
  
“I shall speak with the family. We _must_ discover who her enemies were.”  
  
“Had she any even? She appeared to be a rather bland sort of lady, I cannot picture someone disliking her enough to kill her.”  
  
“Neither can I,” Elizabeth answered. “Nevertheless, did you notice that, though everyone seemed shocked by her death, no one is _grieving_ for her? Her husband is the only one who truly seems to even miss her.”  
  
“Do you think it cannot be an accident?”  
  
“If it were, someone would have owned to it, or at least appear ill-at-ease. I noticed no such thing. Therefore, this death is highly suspect.”  
  
Darcy nodded. “I shall go, then. I shall meet you later for breakfast.”  
  
Half an hour later, Darcy was observing the ground and trunks of the grove Elizabeth had described to him. It was not long before he found footprints—likely a man’s, a little smaller than his—but there was no telling how long they had been there. The shape hinted at gentlemen’s boots, but nothing specific that could narrow the possibilities. He thought he could see a thin print next to the paces. On leaning down to have a closer look, he saw traces of gunpowder on its edges. The shape was consistent with that of a rifle’s butt; he had to copy it in order to compare it later should that become necessary. Elizabeth had insisted he take some paper and charcoals with him, and blessing her for her hindsight, he quickly set to work. He was about to rise again when a pair of boots entered his field of vision. Not of the right size, alas.  
  
"Wandering alone?"  
  
Darcy started. He knew this voice; it was one he would not have expected to hear again so soon.  
  
"Uncle Earl! What are you doing here?"  
  
"Visiting my friend, of course. What are _you_ doing here? You should be with your lovely wife, working on that nursery."  
  
"Uncle!"  
  
"Well, it's true. You are supposed to be on your honeymoon, not socialising around. There will be enough time for that later!"  
  
"Elizabeth and I enjoyed meeting the Pattersons and their friends in a less agitated setting," he said with pinched lips. “Until yesterday’s events, of course.”  
  
"Oh? I saw you from afar and did not get acquainted with the household’s news yet. I paid my respects to our hostess, of course, but she appeared to be upset, and we did not speak long.” Before his nephew could inform him, he went on. “Are you satisfied with your rooms? As you were a last minute addition to the party, there might not have been much choice left. Lady Mary said she was sorry about the room she gave me, but rightfully felt she could not displace her other guests; I shall happily switch if Mrs Darcy desires it. I understand you are one floor below?" Darcy nodded. "With Mrs Darcy?"  
  
"We share a suite."  
  
“Good. _You_ may not have been displeased with another arrangement, I am sure, but it is for the best that you have two rooms.”  
  
“I believe Reynolds and Smith are truly pleased with it.”  
  
“I was thinking of Lizzy. Preserving the delicacy of a young wife’s feelings is of the utmost importance.”  
  
“You take an eager interest in her concerns,” Darcy said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Of course, I do! It _is_ my duty as your uncle to assure myself that you are happy, and your happiness must, of course, be linked to hers.”  
  
“You have no cause to fret, Uncle.”  
  
“Good, good. I had feared ... well ... you had no father, and I thought … It doesn't matter, it appears all is well. Still, my boy, know that if you ever have any questions regarding—well—any aspects of marriage, I shall be there for you."  
  
Though he doubted that he would need such advice any time soon, Darcy could not help being touched.  
  
"Thank you, Uncle."  
  
Pocketing the sketch and making a mental note of coming back with plaster and a mould if he could, Darcy suggested that they return to the house for breakfast.  
  
“Good! Now, while we walk, have you any idea about what might be on Lady Mary’s mind?”  
  
“Yes. Her daughter-in-law was shot yesterday.”  
  
“Heavens! Young John must be beside himself. What did the doctor say?”  
  
“Mrs William Patterson was the one who was shot. As for the doctor, he could say nothing more than confirming her death.”  
  
Lord —— stopped. “This is dreadful! And a very inauspicious start to your marriage, poor lad. I hope Mrs Darcy’s spirits have not been overly affected by the tragedy.”  
  
“They have not, Uncle. You will be able to see it for yourself at breakfast.”  
  
They had entered the house where Darcy’s uncle went to the breakfast-parlour while the younger man went to retrieve his wife. Darcy walked into her bedroom just as Reynolds was finishing with her hair.  
  
“Uncle Earl is here!”  
  
“Is he?” said Elizabeth, raising an eyebrow. “I shall be delighted to meet him again.”  
  
“This is not the point!”  
  
“What is, then?”  
  
“He will scrutinise us! Trying to ascertain whether we are happy!”  
  
Elizabeth dismissed her abigail and, once she was gone, turned towards Darcy.  
  
“And this is a problem, because …”  
  
“... because he believes we married for love and will see something is off!”  
  
“He will not see anything. You are a private person, and our not being publicly affectionate towards each other will not make any eyebrows raise.”  
  
“It may raise _his_.”  
  
“Very well. Will it do if we call each other by ridiculous and sugary names in public?”  
  
“Maybe that would be somewhat excessive. However, I should not want you to act surprised were I to use an endearment in public, or pat your hand, or … _something_.”  
  
“And there I thought disguise of every sort was your abhorrence,” she laughed.  
  
Nonetheless, she agreed to his suggestion. At the end of the day, they did not know much more than at the beginning. They did identify the rifle that had been used; it was stored away with the other hunting guns, confirming their hypothesis of an insider being responsible for it. Darcy had sent Smith to gather information about the boots the gentlemen used. His answer was not as helpful as he would have hoped. The Patterson brothers not only used the same shoemaker, who had been recommended to them by Mr Harris, but the three gentlemen had the same foot size. Moreover, Miss Harris and Mrs John Patterson both owned riding boots made by the same man. Only Lord Blackwood and the elder Pattersons could not have stepped there.  
  
**Friday 7 May**  
  
Darcy had gone out at first light in order to measure and draw the footprints more precisely, only to discover that someone had trampled them. Since everyone had, at some time or other, been outside the day before, there was still no opportunity to narrow the possibilities.  
  
He went back to the house, disappointed by his discovery, and found his host in the hall.  
  
“Ah, Mr Darcy! Just the man I was looking for. There is a young man in regimentals waiting for you in the drawing-room.”  
  
Surmising the man came with Colonel Johnson’s answer, Darcy did not tarry and strode into the room—only to stop short on seeing _who_ had been sent.  
  
“ _Wickham_!”  
  
“Darcy! Always a pleasure to see you,” the other said with a bow and a smirk.  
  
“And Mrs Darcy!” he added when Elizabeth entered the room. “May I present my congratulations on your wedding? One could have knocked me down with a feather when I read the announcement. I should _never_ have imagined that Darcy would ever marry. I am delighted he chose _you_!”  
  
He then bowed low over her hand. Elizabeth giggled. Darcy glared.  
  
“When you are done flirting with my wife, perhaps we can come to the reason for your visit.”  
  
“Stop being such a prig. It would be a crime _not_ to flirt with such a lovely creature. I wonder how you managed to attach her to you!”  
  
“You must allow my husband his secrets,” Elizabeth answered with a smile, “and share with us the reason for your visit.”  
  
“Very well.” With a flourish, the ——shire officer presented his former friend a letter. Darcy opened it, read it, and gave it to his wife with a nod.  
  
“I believe you are now free to depart, Mr Wickham,” she said. “Please give Colonel Johnson our thanks for his prompt answer.”  
  
Wickham glanced at Darcy who nodded his approval while appearing slightly dejected. Elizabeth laughed again.  
  
“Come, sir, you cannot tell me that this answer surprises you.”  
  
“It does not,” Darcy sighed. “However, I do not know in which direction to take our search now.”  
  
“What is the matter?” Wickham enquired.  
  
Darcy hesitated before he answered.  
  
“An unknown gentleman—or perhaps even a tall woman—fired at John Patterson and his sister-in-law a couple days ago. Mrs William Patterson died.”  
  
“Damn! And you suspected _me_?”  
  
Darcy shrugged.  
  
“Why would I have even done such a thing? I have never, ever met William Patterson’s wife, and his brother maybe twice. Patterson and I were once close when we were all at Cambridge, but I haven’t talked to the man since—wait, what a coincidence! I did not _talk_ to him, but I saw Patterson—William Patterson, that is—in London some months ago.”  
  
“Tell us more about it.”  
  
“Why should I?” he scoffed.  
  
“Please, Mr Wickham?” asked Elizabeth with a smile. Darcy rolled his eyes, but it nonetheless did the trick.  
  
“How could I resist such a lovely face? I noticed Patterson in a gambling den, betting far more than he ought. I did not stay long—I had been near bankrupt myself and left after an unexpected gain—but it did not appear that _his_ stay would have been short.”  
  
“I shall see whether I can glean some intelligence regarding Mrs Patterson’s settlement. Will you stay with Mr Wickham while he waits for his horse, Mr Darcy?”  
  
“I shall, dear.”  
  
Elizabeth exited the room, but not before rolling her eyes at him. Left to themselves, the two gentlemen looked at each other in silence. Darcy’s glare was aimed to discourage conversation, but it only goaded Wickham more.  
  
“So, you are married. Who would have thought?”  
  
“You are repeating yourself.”  
  
Wickham smirked.  
  
“So, how do you find—”  
  
“If you are going where I think you are, stop right now,” was the icy answer.  
  
It appeared it would not deter Wickham, for he was about to speak again when he was interrupted.  
  
“George Wickham, as I live and breathe! I had understood you were going for the bar?”  
  
“Lord ——,” said Wickham with a bow. Darcy envied the ease with which he had pronounced his uncle’s name. “I have found that law wasn’t as profitable as I thought, I chose the life of a soldier instead.”  
  
“Capital! You must tell me who your commanding officer is. My son may know him.”  
  
At this Wickham paled slightly, but took hold of himself.  
  
“Speaking of Colonel Fitzwilliam, was he as surprised as I was on hearing Darcy’s news? I was just telling him that I should never have imagined him married—at all, for he was more interested in his books than in other endeavours when we were studying together. Well, maybe to Miss de Bourgh, but not to such a delightful creature as Mrs Darcy.”  
  
“I believe he at least saw it coming,” said Lord —— as Darcy scowled. “The match was formed in spite of them being under my sister’s eyes, can you imagine this?”  
  
Wickham chuckled. He saw from the corner of his eye that his horse was led to the front steps and was about to answer before leaving as fast as he could when Elizabeth Darcy entered the room again, out of breath.  
  
“Mr Wickham! Is that your horse?”  
  
“Why, yes—”  
  
“Good. Ride to the village as fast as you can and come back with the apothecary. Mr Patterson—John Patterson—has been stabbed. _Now_ , Mr Wickham!”  
  
The officer nodded quickly before dashing out of the house.  
  
“What happened, Elizabeth?”  
  
“Nephew! The poor dear must have been dreadfully shocked. You must not question her now; take her to your rooms and let her rest. Better, rest with her, will you?” That last sentence was accompanied by a wink.  
  
Deciding that secluding themselves in a room where their discussion would not be interrupted was a sound idea, Darcy offered his arm to Elizabeth, only to be reprimanded by his uncle again.  
  
“You cannot expect her to _walk_ after the way her nerves have been shaken!”  
  
As if to prove his words, Elizabeth began to shake. As close to her as he was, Darcy could see it for what it was: barely controlled laughter.  
  
“What would you expect me to do, Uncle?”  
  
“Carry her, of course! Have you lost your sense of gentlemanly behaviour? Young people these days!”  
  
_This_ made Elizabeth still, but it was too late: reflecting that this was indeed the fastest way of gaining their rooms, Darcy had picked her up and strode through the door and up the stairs, putting her down only when they reached their door.  
  
“This was horribly embarrassing,” was the first thing she said once they had attained privacy.  
  
“But efficient,” he countered. “Now, what can you tell me?”  
  
“Your friend was stabbed,” she said again. “I had hoped to speak with Mr Patterson or Lady Mary when I heard a cry, followed by something breaking. It was in a bedroom, so I announced myself, but no one answered. Lord Blackwood had arrived by then, we entered the room and found Mr John Patterson with a knife in his side. Lord Blackwood grabbed a towel and stopped the blood while I ran to fetch help. For now, this is the whole of it. I cannot help but think …”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“John Patterson was near poor Mrs Patterson when she was shot. What if _he_ had been the targeted one, but the aim of the one who shot was deficient?”  
  
Darcy swore. “Why didn’t we think of it earlier?”  
  
Elizabeth shrugged.  
  
“Now,” her husband continued, “if what Wickham said is the truth, William Patterson could have a motive to wish for his brother’s demise. Being the heir would afford him more credit at the card tables.”  
  
“It seems a rather petty motive.”  
  
“Perhaps. But if he lost more than he could afford, he may have been desperate. I should not discount his wife having been endangered on purpose either: since they have no children, it is likely he would inherit her fortune.”  
  
“You told me his aim was good, though?”  
  
“No. Harris is the marksman. Patterson was average … oh dear. Yes, he would have known he could miss his brother, while not caring particularly if his wife was shot. Now, apart from him, who could have done this?”  
  
“We can exclude Lord Blackwood. I heard him coming up the corridor while I heard the attacker leaving.”  
  
“Good. Wickham is equally innocent.”  
  
Elizabeth did not hide her smirk.  
  
“The ladies are equally out of our suspects’ list.”  
  
“I should not be so certain about this,” said Elizabeth. “Yes, they would lack strength, and I cannot see Miss Harris managing to surprise him, but Lady Mary and Mrs John Patterson could have approached him without him being wary, and his being unprepared might have allowed one of them to strike him.”  
  
Darcy appeared doubtful. “Maybe not Lady Mary. However, I remember that Smith had discovered that Mrs John Patterson owned a pair of boots that could have made the prints in the wilderness. She _could_ have shot them.”  
  
“Now, we need motives,” sighed Elizabeth. “She did not seem to like her sister-in-law, but this is no reason for murdering her. And it appeared she and Mr John got along quite well.”  
  
“So we are back to William Patterson. He reminds me of Wickham, and they _were_ friends at Cambridge.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and did not deign to answer, but her eyes conveyed all that she felt about that argument: utter nonsense.  
  
**Saturday 8 May, in the afternoon**  
  
The day had been tense. Though John Patterson would not die because of the wound itself, infection remained possible. and great care was taken of him.  
  
It appeared that the Darcys were not alone in their suspicion of William Patterson. The rest of the household had eyed him warily, and Lord Blackwood pointedly noted that it was possible that Mrs William had not been the target of the first shot since she _had_ been near John Patterson then. Darcy reminded them that William Patterson was an imprecise enough marksman for this to be possible. The more suspicion fell on him, though, the more Elizabeth doubted their first conclusion, for his reaction was not, according to her, that of a guilty man. She began to observe more attentively the other ladies and gentlemen. Patterson was not completely shunned, for Miss Harris appeared all ready to condole with him. In another corner of the drawing-room, her brother debated animatedly with Lord Blackwood and the Patterson patriarch. Darcy was close enough to that group to overhear what was said and, once they retired, she asked him about it.  
  
“Harris was adamant that William Patterson could _not_ be behind this and said Mrs John Patterson was more likely to be the culprit.”  
  
“What was his reasoning?”  
  
“Mainly that it was not in William Patterson’s character to act as he does had he something to reproach himself.”  
  
“I actually tend to agree with this observation.”  
  
“He also pointed that Catherine Patterson was not overly alarmed by her husband’s situation.” Darcy sighed. “Harris implied that she might use his current weakness in order to ‘end what she had begun’ and that it would be a good thing if John Patterson were protected in order to avoid her smothering him with a pillow or slipping him too much laudanum.”  
  
“Tell me, Mr Darcy, how close are the Harrises and the William Pattersons?”  
  
“Quite close, I believe. The men became friends at Cambridge, and I even believe that Patterson called on Miss Harris when she came out, before settling for his wife.”  
  
Elizabeth did not answer, and her gaze took a speculative aspect.  
  
“Elizabeth?”  
  
“It appears that Miss Harris has not forgotten that.”  
  
“How do you mean?”  
  
“She and William Patterson were quite comfortable together.”  
  
“Ah. I believe he may like her more now than he did then. She was quite a foolish creature when she was first out.”  
  
“Do you think that Harris hopes for the match and, because of this, endeavours to protect Patterson from retribution?”  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
“Do you believe William Patterson shot at his brother and his wife, knowing that one of them was bound to be, if not dead, badly hurt, and planned to go after the other later?”  
  
“I am not sure. As much as I see how this would benefit him, I cannot understand how he missed killing his brother. Something is off.”  
  
“Not necessarily. He _did_ stab him, after all, and it was pure luck that he missed any vital organs and was driven away by our arrival.”  
  
At that moment, someone knocked at the door. It turned out to be Smith.  
  
“Madam, sir, I thought you would like to know that Mr John Patterson has regained consciousness. His mother is with him at the moment.”  
  
“Has he? May we see him?”  
  
“I am afraid Lady Mary would prevent that, madam. However, I had it from a footman, who had it from Mr John Patterson’s valet, that Mr Patterson did not see his attacker.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“He told Lady Mary, when she asked, that he saw the curtain move, and then felt the knife. I surmise it was thrown.”  
  
“Did you learn anything else?”  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
“Thank you, Smith. You may go for now. Keep listening, and come back if you learn more.”  
  
“This changes everything,” said Elizabeth once the door was closed again. “There is still a luck element, of course, but it appears that, perhaps, the murderer did not try to kill John Patterson as much as he tried to kill Mrs Patterson.”  
  
“John Patterson can still die.”  
  
“Yes. But it is not _certain_ , and he is now protected.”  
  
“But then it would mean that Mrs Patterson’s death was not happenstance! Her husband could not take such a shot and be certain of his success.”  
  
“I remember you said, when the party arrived, that one of them was a truly fine marksman.”  
  
“Harris.” Darcy paused. “And he would like his sister to marry Patterson …”  
  
“What if Mr Harris _knows_ Mr Patterson to be innocent because his sister—no, he himself—is the culprit?”  
  
“All this in order to settle a sister?”  
  
“Perhaps she vowed she would have no other? John Patterson’s death would allow his sister to be the mistress of an estate, but his survival does not hinder the match.”  
  
“And his targeting John Patterson would distract from his true motive. What about William Patterson’s losses at cards?”  
  
“We have only Wickham’s word for this, and he only witnessed him over one evening.”  
  
“True. Moreover, trying to direct suspicion towards Catherine Patterson might lead to an estrangement between her and her husband. They have no sons and the estate is entailed on the male line, allowing William’s son to inherit next.”  
  
“It fits. Oh, it fits so very well. But how could we prove it? What can be done?”  
  
“We could trap him.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
Darcy paused.  
  
“Do you think that we could persuade John Patterson to say that he saw whoever tried to kill him?”  
  
“When he already told his mother he did not? Perhaps. We must see him now if we want this to bear fruit, though. I think I may have an idea.”  
  
When they visited the invalid, he was asleep again, under the influence of laudanum. It did not deter Elizabeth’s plan in the slightest: all she needed to put it in place was a moment of privacy with the sleeping man.  
  
**Saturday 8 May at dinner**  
  
“Can you believe that Mr Patterson _did_ indeed see someone, but was not certain whom?”  
  
“I dare say he _is_ certain of what he saw,” said Darcy, “but he also ponders whether it would be best to tell it or hide it.”  
  
“Why would he do such a thing?” cried Lady Mary. Darcy only shrugged.  
  
“And how would he have seen anything, if his attacker was behind a curtain?” Lord Blackwood asked.  
  
“While Mrs Darcy was with him, Mr Patterson woke briefly and toldher that he saw someone in a mirror. The murderer obviously overlooked this.”  
  
“Doesn’t it make him a potential murderer?” asked Miss Harris.  
  
“Potential? You forget that Patterson may not recover,” said Darcy coldly, “and that Mrs William Patterson was his first victim.”  
  
Miss Harris dropped her gaze to her plate and said no more.  
  
**The night between Saturday 8 May and Sunday 9 May**  
  
Mr John Patterson was asleep. Next to him, on a chair, his valet snored. The door opened slowly, and a figure appeared. The man, for the embers allowed one to see that much, approached the bed stealthily. Once at the gentleman’s head, he paused, then cautiously picked up a pillow, which he pressed to the sleeping man’s face.  
  
There was a brief struggle.  
  
A candle was lit, and Mr Harris could be seen, lying on the carpet, restrained by Mr Darcy and various manservants. Elizabeth lit more candles and went to check on the invalid. John Patterson did not appear to have suffered at all from the attack. The men lying in wait had intervened at the right moment: before any harm was done but after ill-intent had been clearly manifested.  
  
There was no way for Mr Harris to deny his culpability, and it did not take much prompting to get him to share his motivations.  
  
“I began to think about it on the way to the Manor. My sister had renewed her acquaintance with William Patterson, but I believe he deemed her too silly to be interesting then. Now, though, they had had quite a number of discussions, and I thought they would have done well together, were he not already married. And then I thought that accidents _did_ happen,” he shrugged. “From there it was not complicated to plan. I was too hasty, though. Had I waited for the shooting season, you would _never_ have caught me.”  
  
“Why did you not wait, then?” Elizabeth asked.  
  
“It was not a given that William’s wife would be around in the autumn, and even if she were, my sister would not have been there to comfort him. I had to use the opportunity that arose when so many other people were gathered at Highmoor Manor.”  
  
“Why that need for numbers?”  
  
“It would have been easier to blur my traces that way. Too bad Patterson saw me and that you had the foresight to guard him. I shouldn’t have tried to make it look as if _he_ was the intended victim.” Harris looked at the others and frowned. “Why is your wife smiling?”  
  
“Because there was no mirror. No one saw you. We merely set up a nice trap—and you fell into it.”  
  
Harris swore.  
  
“Secure him,” Darcy told the footmen.  
  
“Shall we warn Mr Patterson, sir?”  
  
“No, let him rest. As long as Mr Harris cannot escape, everything else can wait.”  
  
Hours later, everyone, barring Mr Harris and John Patterson, had gathered for breakfast and had been told of the events of the night. Miss Harris was particularly horrified by her brother’s actions, while William Patterson appeared angry. The young lady soon excused herself and sought refuge in her room, from where she wrote to a number of her relatives in the hopes they would take her in. Mr Patterson and Lady Mary were both saddened by the revelation that Mr Harris was not the nice young man they thought he was and relieved that what happened was not caused by a fratricidal quarrel. Mr Harris would, of course, be prosecuted.  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a satisfied glance.  
  
**Monday 10 May**  
  
John Patterson was on the mend, and the Darcys decided that they would depart as soon as their trunks were packed. Leaving Smith and Reynolds to their task, they went in search of their hosts in order to take their leave of them.  
  
“Poor Miss Harris,” said Elizabeth as they went down the stairs. “I do not see how she can escape the scandal.”  
  
“She still has her dowry, and once her brother is tried, it is possible she will inherit part of his fortune. She will find a match providing she immediately distances herself from her brother, which she appears willing to do.”  
  
“Darcy, Lizzy!” the booming voice of Uncle Earl rang out. “There you are! I am sorry you had to deal with such unpleasantness, and less than one month after your wedding, too! When you have more agreeable things to think about, have you not?”  
  
He winked at his nephew and went on about the extraordinary coincidence that had them at the right place and the right time, and then about the unlikelihood of Harris’s plan succeeding, before coming back to the topic of their interrupted honeymoon.  
  
Darcy merely rolled his eyes. The newlyweds exchanged a glance.  
  
“I am not sure I am in the right mood to appreciate more sightseeing.”  
  
“Especially since the Pattersons gifted us the _Linnaeus_ as a reward.”  
  
Elizabeth blushed.  
  
“Perhaps we shall go back to London so that you may peruse it at your leisure.”  
  
The Darcys were soon on their way, leaving a chuckling Earl behind. Though he did not quite understand the particulars of modern romance, Lord —— was satisfied to see his nephew happy and began to count the months till he may reasonably hope to receive a birth announcement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Physic gardens:  
> "A physic garden is a type of herb garden with medicinal plants. Botanical gardens developed from them." (Wikipedia)
> 
> \- Darcy finding powder and a gun print:  
> I wanted him to find a shell. A quick search led me to the discovery that cartridges had been invented in 1808 by a team of two men, one Swiss and one French. They improved and patented their invention in 1812. A more efficient cartridge, that was first sold in England about 1845, was patented by another French man in 1836. All this to say that, though finding a cartridge case would not have been totally impossible, it was still rather improbable.


	7. Case 6 - Bodies at Boodle's

**The Darcys’ house in London, Monday 18 May**  
  
Mr and Mrs Darcy had returned from Highmoor Manor and decided that they would go to Pemberley for the summer. They were currently to spend a couple of weeks in London, where Mr Darcy was to meet with his man of business and some of his acquaintances while Mrs Darcy saw to her wardrobe and explored their library. They would then set off again in order to meet Mr Darcy’s other relatives and, hopefully, come across some _interesting_ situations. They felt reasonably confident that one would arise sooner rather than later, and while awaiting its occurrence, they were now focused on redesigning the room that was to be Mrs Darcy's. It was a dressing room that was both outdated and impractically furnished given the use she would have of it.  
  
They had been back from Wiltshire a couple days when Elizabeth Darcy stepped into her husband's bedroom one morning.  
  
"Is something the matter?" he enquired.  
  
"Not at all," she said, observing the room. "I believe I shall also make changes to this room."  
  
"But it was redecorated not five years ago!"  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "It looks _very_ masculine."  
  
"Of course it does! It is _my_ bedroom!"  
  
" _Our_ bedroom."  
  
"May I remind you that we do not share a bedroom?" he said, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Precisely. However, there is only one bedroom in that suite, and since I shall need more space than you do, _I_ shall occupy it."  
  
"You did not have any such complaint the night after our wedding."  
  
"Because I did not own half as many dresses as I do now—and there are yet more to come! I should also like a space I could use as both a study and a drawing-room."  
  
"You would kick me out of my room?"  
  
"Do not be over-dramatic! Surely you will gracefully give me the space I need and retreat to your dressing room. You cannot have so many cravats that it prevents you from putting a bed in it?"  
  
"My dressing-room is smaller than yours. Thus it is natural and just that _you_ sleep there and leave _me_ with the bedroom."  
  
She pouted. "How about exchanging rooms? I shall have the bedroom and your dressing room as mine, and you will have my dressing room."  
  
"But then we should have to remodel three rooms instead of only one!"  
  
"Two."  
  
His only answer was a shrug.  
  
"Are you so bent on economising that you cannot spare the funds for such an endeavour?"  
  
"Very well," he conceded. "Do as you wish. Just promise you will leave my study as it is."  
  
Elizabeth nodded.  
  
"Will you mind if I now go to Boodles while you make your plans to destroy what I had done?"  
  
"Oh, this is not so very dreadful. Besides, will you not tell me what you want to be done in your room?"  
  
"Reproduce what is done in my current rooms. Ask Smith for his advice. Between the two of you, I trust the results will be acceptable."  
  
She laughed again. "Flee, then!"  
  
**The Darcys' house, that evening**  
  
"Did you recover your tranquillity of mind?"  
  
"I have resolved myself to the unavoidable. Will you at least ask for my opinion once you have settled on a scheme?"  
  
"If you wish. Fear not, though—you do know that my tastes do not tend towards frills or gilt."  
  
"Thank God for small mercies," Darcy said with a shudder.  
  
"Will you stay tomorrow, so that we can discuss it dispassionately?"  
  
"I must go back to the club first, for I have been called upon to settle a matter of honour.”  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Nothing too interesting, I am afraid. They merely asked for my advice because they trusted my judgement and felt I should be impartial."  
  
“What is the object of the quarrel?”  
  
“The Most Noble and Gentlemanly Art of Hunting. Or rather, whether Allenby intended to insult Fitzhugh or was merely careless when the former said that one could not be a true gentleman and use a double barrel gun when the latter had just said it would be a welcome development if such a rifle were created.”  
  
Elizabeth looked at him blankly, then shook her head.  
  
"Men are impenetrable creatures. I should love to see that place, though. Will you smuggle me in?"  
  
"And have you begin to plot the demise of another bastion of masculinity? I think not!"  
  
**Boodles, the day after**  
  
Once he entered the room, Darcy was swarmed by those of his peers who had not seen him since before his marriage. They were quick to offer their congratulations and extend invitations for him and his bride to visit them, professing to have missed him. The feeling was, more often than not, not mutual, and Darcy endeavoured to find the necessary diplomatic talents to fend them off without offending them mortally.  
  
As a result, more than a dozen gentlemen were witness to the discussion between Allenby, Fitzhugh, and Darcy. No decision of the arbitration was given, though, for a detonation brought the proceedings to a stop. The assembled company rushed into the corridor, as did the club members who were in other parlours. Only one door remained closed. Mr Cartwright, who had exited the adjoining room, said he thought Sir Eugene had been in the still closed parlour. It seemed the noise had originated from that room, but the fear of losing one’s membership in case this was nothing and Sir Eugene was unhappy to have his tranquillity disturbed prevented most of the gentlemen from stepping inside. In the end, the Earl of Bagels, a guest of his cousin and the highest ranking gentleman present, was volunteered to investigate. A knock on the door brought no answer. The handle was tried: the door was locked. Allenby went in search of Houston, the club's butler, who must have a spare key—or know where one could be found.  
  
It appeared that there was only one key to this particular door. Houston could also confirm that Sir Eugene had indeed been settled in the now locked parlour and had not left the premises, stating that he himself had brought him the newspaper and some coffee one hour previously.  
  
A short confabulation later, the assembled gentlemen decided that the door must be forced open. Darcy, Cartwright and a couple of others volunteered. The door was opened, and the men's gazes were arrested by the form of Sir Eugene sprawled in an armchair, a folded newspaper at his side.  
  
“Sir Eugene?"  
  
The man gave no answer.  
  
"Allenby, have Houston join us.”  
  
Moments later, the dignified butler entered the room. Darcy had meanwhile approached Sir Eugene but could only record that the man was dead. The pistol laying at his feet and the hole marking his right temple gave a precise idea of what might have happened. Though the carpet might not be beyond salvation, the chair would have to be re-upholstered.  
  
"Houston, we've had a problem," Darcy said without looking away.  
  
"Sir Eugene Ware-Lampshade shot himself!" Cartwright exclaimed.  
  
"Did he?"  
  
"Come on, Darcy, what else could have happened? The door was locked! The key was inside the lock!"  
  
"Was it?"  
  
"Yes, we found it on the floor while you were looking at the body. You must have dislodged it when you forced the door open."  
  
Darcy said nothing and only appeared thoughtful.  
  
"Houston," he said at last. "I shall be back shortly with ... reinforcements. Will you mind if I have my groomsmen guard this room, so nothing in it is disturbed?"  
  
"Not at all, sir."  
  
Mr Darcy rose at last. After a final glance at the body, he exited the room as his men took station in it and came across Lord Bagels.  
  
"Do you know whether someone has sent word to Sir Eugene’s family?"  
  
"I wrote a note to his son," Lord Bagels answered. "I assume he will join us as soon as he is awake and dressed."  
  
"Good. I must leave momentarily, I shall not be long."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"Home."  
  
"Telling Mrs Darcy in person that you will be away longer than you thought?" he chuckled.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
**Boodles, thirty-two minutes later**  
  
Darcy had not tarried and was back already, accompanied by two servants in livery: a footman whom some of the gentlemen remembered having seen before and a young lad who must have been new to his office and was immediately forgotten.  
  
"Is everything as it was when I left, Houston?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The butler led Mr Darcy, with barely a glance at his two followers, to the room where Sir Eugene's corpse still laid. At the door stood even more gentlemen than had been in the club when Darcy left.  
  
"Darcy! Just the man for the situation," one of the newcomers said. It was Mr Everett, who turned address the other gentlemen. “He was a great help in solving my problem all those weeks ago."  
  
"I doubt his wife will be pleased that he deserts her so soon after his wedding," Cartwright sniggered.  
  
"And what would _you_ know about a wife's discontentment? You are not married!" a voice called out.  
  
"Ah, but he has a mistress," another said.  
  
"Had! Did you not know that Mrs Falkland left him for Sir Eugene?"  
  
"Did she? I wonder whether the poor chap benefitted from her arts and allurements before he died."  
  
"Think she'll take Cartwright back now that Sir Eugene has kicked the bucket?"  
  
"I hope not! I shall have to approach her."  
  
"In any case," Everett said again, "I doubt Mrs Darcy will mind our friend's involvement in making light on that death. She _did_ support him when it came to identifying who attempted to harm me."  
  
"They were not married then. A new bride would think differently."  
  
"Mrs Darcy has begun a redecoration campaign," Darcy said at last. "She will not miss me."  
  
Unnoticed in the background, the younger servant smirked.  
  
"Now, gentlemen, if you would kindly let us in? I shall join you shortly in the Great Parlour to share our conclusions."  
  
Once they entered the room and closed the door behind them, the lad's smirk became a girlish giggle.  
  
"For someone who dislikes disguise, you are particularly gifted at misdirection."  
  
"What did I say that was untrue?"  
  
"Nothing—hence my remark."  
  
"Now, you are at the scene. I still cannot believe that I let you talk me into this."  
  
"You cannot think that I should have contented myself with reports when I could observe directly?"  
  
"Could you please, then, begin your observations and stop teasing me?"  
  
"As you wish I _did_ vow to obey you, after all."  
  
"You conveniently forgot that yesterday."  
  
"And _you_ forget that you endowed me with all your worldly goods."  
  
"I did not think that included my bedroom," he grumbled.  
  
She did not answer, for after having sniffed the cup which had contained coffee, she moved by Sir Eugene's body and, putting a hand on his neck, lifted his eyelids, then moved to observed his wound.  
  
"He was shot."  
  
"That much was obvious. I did hear the shot, as did the men who were with me."  
  
"You did not."  
  
"I _was_ here, Elizabeth. I know what I heard!"  
  
"Misdirection, my dear Darcy."  
  
"Could you express yourself more clearly?"  
  
"Correct me if I am wrong in my retelling: the door was closed, seemingly from the inside, you were before the door soon enough after the shot to prevent anyone from escaping, and not enough time had elapsed to allow for the modification of the scene."  
  
"That is a good summary. Are you telling me that Sir Eugene actually shot himself? It would be decidedly unlike him, which is why I wished for your advice. Perhaps someone goaded him into doing so—by implying, perhaps, that the pistol was not loaded—and escaped in the resulting confusion?"  
  
"This is an interesting hypothesis, but it is not what I thought. See for yourself: there is no burn mark at the bullet's entry point.The angle of the wound is also inconsistent with a self-inflicted wound: he would have had to hold his elbow high above his head."  
  
"Which excludes suicide. What, then?"  
  
"When was Sir Eugene seen alive for the last time and by whom?"  
  
"Houston brought him coffee and The Morning Post about one hour before we heard the shot."  
  
"So about one hour and a half ago, perhaps as long as two hours ago, correct?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"This would be more consistent with the temperature of the body," Elizabeth said, and Darcy noticed then that her hand had never left the corpse's throat. "He is tepid; he must have died more than one hour ago, probably soon after he was given the paper."  
  
“How would you know such a thing?”  
  
“Mr Jones. Though he told me that the decrease in heat could vary from person to person; sometimes a body remains warm even a couple hours after the person’s death. However, this is not the case here. There are also other indications … there, look!”  
  
She pointed to a purplish mark near the corpse’s neck.  
  
“ _Those_ would definitely appear at least two hours after the death, and not before.”  
  
The Morning Post was still there, and she picked it up.  
  
"See? It has been unfolded and refolded, and some blood then dropped on it. But _there_ ," she said, opening it, "is also blood!"  
  
"Blood both inside and outside. He was killed when he had just begun to read.”  
  
Elizabeth threw him a puzzled glance.  
  
“He was known for reading the first page last. I feel very foolish, Elizabeth. I should have seen that the blood around the wound could not have coagulated so quickly.”  
  
“You had no reason to be suspicious then. Moreover, I believe your mind somehow registered this. Otherwise, you would not have asked for my opinion.”  
  
“Maybe. Now, how could Sir Eugene have been oblivious of his impending fate?”  
  
“You think he was?”  
  
“Yes. Given what you say of the entry point, he must have been seated where he was found. If he had seen he was threatened, why would he not have moved?”  
  
“Perhaps he thought the threat was not serious, or he was told that if he did not move no harm would come to him.” Her eyes fell on the newspaper again. “He could also have been so focused on the articles that he did not see the pistol aimed at him."  
  
"I imagine we shall learn more of the circumstances when we apprehend the culprit,” he said with a sigh. “I still cannot fathom how we did not hear the first detonation. The second is self-explanatory: there must be a second pistol somewhere near."  
  
"The murderer must have wrapped the pistol in cloth, or possibly was lucky enough to shoot at a time when there was enough traffic and noise in the road to distract your attention. On seeing that no one had come, he _then_ staged the scene, exited the room, locked the door, and waited until enough time had elapsed before firing from the next room."  
  
"This is a surprisingly plausible explanation, Elizabeth."  
  
"Thank you," she said with a smile that turned mischievous. "Are you now about to bemoan the fact that there is no way Mr Wickham found himself in that room at that time?"  
  
"Who needs George Wickham when Alistair Cartwright is to hand?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Your average dissipated heir—he was the one who mocked me for deserting you when we arrived. He is neither better nor worse than most of his peers, but with the particularity of having lost his mistress to Sir Eugene—I believe he was particularly bitter about this."  
  
"Yes, I heard this when we arrived. And you dare tell me that men do not _gossip_ ," she said, rolling her eyes.  
  
"This is valuable information!"  
  
"Only in hindsight."  
  
Darcy wished to argue further but thought better of it and settled for taking hold of his wife's hand.  
  
"Thank you, Elizabeth."  
  
"You believe it could be that simple?"  
  
"It may be."  
  
"It is too bad we cannot easily question the ... lady," mused Elizabeth with a sigh. "She might have more to tell us."  
  
"It cannot be helped," her husband answered. Elizabeth said nothing but began looking at him in a manner he soon found alarming, especially when he noticed the glint in her eye.  
  
"Elizabeth, no! Absolutely not! I _refuse_ to visit a courtesan just so you can consolidate your conclusion."  
  
"Spoilsport," she said, deflating. "It is not as if it would shock many people."  
  
"It would displease _me_."  
  
"Very well."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Could you send Colonel Fitzwilliam?"  
  
"Elizabeth!”  
  
“I am only asking!”  
  
“He would not have enough money. And before you ask me: I would not fund him!” He took some moments to regain his bearings before continuing. "Moreover, if the situation is as straightforward as we suspect, we shall not need to enquire further. I believe Cartwright is still with the others. Let us rejoin them."  
  
"We should first have a look in the room in which he stayed earlier."  
  
The Darcys and their footman, Weston, went into the next room, where a quick search produced another pistol from behind a curtain. No trace of a bullet was found, but Darcy surmised that the pistol had only been loaded with powder. When Darcy took a closer look at it, he nodded.  
  
"It is identical to the one that was found near Sir Eugene Ware-Lampshade."  
  
"Duelling pistols? Here?"  
  
"You would be surprised if you knew all that could be found around."  
  
Before they made their way to the great parlour, Darcy went to retrieve the first pistol. He then entered the room where all the gentlemen—including Alistair Cartwright—awaited Sir Eugene's son.  
  
"Ah, Darcy," one of them said. "Have you any new light to shed on this?"  
  
"What do you think has induced poor Sir Eugene Ware-Lampshade to end his life?" another inquired.  
  
"Nothing," Darcy said, and he held the pair of pistols.  
  
A shout of rage was heard over the exclamations of surprise. Alistair Cartwright ran for the door but encountered Weston and his six feet, two inches. The gentleman's flight had ended as soon as it had begun; he was promptly catapulted into an armchair.  
  
"Would you care to explain to us why you found yourself suddenly in a hurry?"  
  
Cartwright cringed.  
  
"You astonish me, Darcy!" Everett exclaimed. "This is the second time you sweep into a place and catch a miscreant!"  
  
"The third, I think," someone corrected from the back of the room. "Mother received an interesting letter from Lady Mary Patterson earlier this week."  
  
Cartwright scowled now openly, and then he exploded.  
  
“Sir Eugene humiliated me! He had to pay!”  
  
That silenced the assembled gentlemen. Cartwright went on.  
  
“I came to demand satisfaction from him after he stole Mrs Falkland from me, and he had the gall to scoff! He told me that he did not see where the honour was in that matter! He then ignored me! I took a pistol out of the case I had brought and loaded it, and he did not even look at me!”  
  
Cartwright’s eyes burned with hatred.  
  
“Then I fired. He just slumped over.” He then shrugged. “When no one came bursting into the room, I took notice of the noise that was in the street and realised that the Fates must have approved of my actions. I dropped the pistol near the armchair, folded the newspaper, and locked the room after I left it before settling into the next parlour to think and plan my next move. The case was the first to go, I burned it in the fireplace.”  
  
Cartwright paused and looked at his hand before resuming his speech.  
  
“I had to stay and show myself. Otherwise, people might have believed me to be involved; there was also the key to return inside of the room. It was going fairly well, and then you had to arrive and ruin everything! You should have stayed with your wife and away from here, Darcy."  
  
"Mrs Darcy happens to share my views about what is right," Darcy answered coldly. "She would have been deeply unhappy had I allowed you to escape retribution."  
  
"And I, for one, am thankful that she feels so," a new voice was heard. Sir Eugene's son had arrived at last and entered the parlour while Darcy was speaking. "The family is in your debt, Darcy."  
  
"Mr Ware-Lampshade, allow me to express my condolences for your loss."  
  
"Thank you. Now, go home and tell your wife how remarkable you were. I shall ensure that my father's murderer does not escape justice."  
  
Cartwright glared at them and jumped from his seat again. Weston, as well as some of the gentlemen, thought to anticipate him and went to bar the door, only to discover that the man had aimed for the window. He deftly opened it and jumped into the street, and for one moment it seemed that the Fates were indeed smiling upon him. The mud may have allowed him to break his fall and escape unscathed, had he not landed into the path of a curricle pulled by a nervous pair of greys. The spooked animals did not leave him a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boodles was one of the top three London clubs, with better food, less gambling and less politics than White’s or Brook’s. It catered mostly to country gentlemen, and its name was the one who sounded better when it came to choose a title, which is why it was eventually picked.


	8. Case 7 - Of Siblings and Jewellery

**The Darcy’s house in London, Wednesday 27 May**  
  
"Bingley sent me a letter," Mr Darcy said to his lady that day.  
  
"Jane did as well," Elizabeth Darcy answered. "If your friend hurt her, he _will_ regret it."  
  
"Maybe you might read your letter before emitting any threats or plotting any revenge. I can barely decipher one word out of three in mine; it appears that Bingley was more agitated than usual when he penned it."  
  
Elizabeth huffed but complied, and soon smiled.  
  
"They are to marry!"  
  
"Does this truly surprise you?"  
  
"I feared Mrs Hurst would have discouraged him to pursue Jane."  
  
"She might have, at one time, but she would not do so now that we are wed. The connection is too valuable to forfeit."  
  
"I see you are still as humble as ever."  
  
"Well-regulated as always, dear."  
  
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but stopped when she saw her husband frown.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I have been remiss in not warning your father about the dangers that have arisen with this change of situation."  
  
"You speak in riddles."  
  
"Your sisters will be preyed upon by unscrupulous men who will want to pursue them for their supposed fortunes."  
  
"First among them Mr Wickham, I presume?"  
  
"Do not jest, Elizabeth! You do not know what he can do."  
  
"I know that you are prompt to accuse him of whatever evil befalls you," she said with a shrug.  
  
“Because I know what he can do.”  
  
“He never killed anyone, as far as I know.”  
  
“True,” her husband conceded. “Still, he _is_ a fortune hunter. I have actual proof of this.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
“Yes,” he sighed. “I suppose I should have told you about this earlier. Do you remember what I told you about our interactions?”  
  
“He was a childhood friend, you drifted apart due to the increasing divergences between your morals, and you were happy to pay him off rather to offer him the living he was promised. He did not take well that you refused him the position once he had squandered away his bequest,” she recited.  
  
“An accurate summary. What I did not tell you is that some years after that, he tried to avenge himself—and to make his fortune simultaneously—by persuading my sister to elope with him.”  
  
“Georgiana?” Elizabeth had met Miss Darcy, and the shy, young girl did not strike her as someone who would act in so outrageous a fashion.  
  
“I only have one sister,” her husband answered drily.  
  
“I cannot reconcile her character with such an action.”  
  
“Neither could she, which is why she apprised me of the scheme at the first opportunity.”  
  
“How could she devise such a plan in the first place? Mr Wickham may be persuasive, but I cannot believe that you left her without adequate supervision!”  
  
“Alas, this is precisely what I did. I learned later that the companion I hired was an acquaintance of Mr Wickham, and they conspired together in order to gain my sister’s dowry.”  
  
“How dreadful! It is no wonder you resent him. And I made sport of you—I am truly sorry.”  
  
“It matters not,” he shrugged. “You happened to be correct when it came to his lack of involvement in the murders we came across. I fear I cannot think clearly yet when it comes to that man.”  
  
"You are right, though, when you say we must warn my family. Mr Wickham may not be a criminal, but he surely is an opportunist. I doubt my father will heed your warning—regarding Wickham or status hunters in general,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “Papa does not like to exert himself. He might do so for me or Jane, but he has written off the younger three as silly and unworthy of his attention."  
  
"I am sorry of this, Elizabeth. Perhaps your mother may listen to your concerns?"  
  
"When the business of her life is to get her daughters married?"  
  
"With you and Jane advantageously settled, she will not be satisfied with merely marriage for her other daughters."  
  
"Maybe you are right. I shall speak with her when we arrive in Hertfordshire."  
  
"Will you not write to her beforehand?"  
  
"Only to accept her offer of hospitality—if you do not object to staying at Longbourn?"  
  
"To accept—is the wedding so soon?"  
  
"Jane tells me they settled on Wednesday next."  
  
Darcy smiled.  
  
"He _did_ boast of being of the kind to make decisions in a hurry."  
  
Elizabeth laughed.  
  
"When shall we leave?"  
  
"As soon as you wish, Mrs Darcy. Are you certain you wish to reside at Longbourn instead of Netherfield, where we should have more room?"  
  
"There will be no Jane at Netherfield. I want to spend as much time as I can with her."  
  
"I doubt you will find any moment of calm together."  
  
"I shall if I share her room. You have allowed me to invade yours here, it is only fair that you have mine for yourself."  
  
“I doubt I should be allowed to make as much change in it as you did in mine,” Darcy huffed.  
  
Elizabeth only laughed, and left the breakfast room in order to compose her letter. On her way upstairs, however, she was distracted by the sight of a scullery maid. She frowned at first, for the girl’s place was not above stairs, but any reproach she was about to make died on her lips when she noticed the girl was clearly distressed.  
  
“What is the matter?”  
  
“It’s my sister, ma’am, she’s employed by the Staverton family.”  
  
“Is she ill? Do you wish for a day off to visit with her? That can be arranged.”  
  
“No, ma’am, she’s in good health, at least, I think so.” The girl—Elizabeth could not remember her name and was not even sure she had been told it—wrung her hands and appeared miserable.  
  
“What is it, then?”  
  
“They say she has stolen a necklace, ma’am, but I know Lucy, she would never do that!”  
  
"Oh dear."  
  
"I ... ma'am, do you think you could do something or other about it?" The girl was looking at her with eyes full of hope.  
  
"What would you have me do? And please remind me of your name."  
  
“Susan, Susan Porter, ma’am. I’m afraid for my sister. They will hang her, or dismiss her without references, and I fear you will not employ me anymore if word spreads that she stole something, but she wouldn’t do that, ma’am, Lucy is the most honest person I know, I swear to you!”  
  
“Still, I cannot see how I could be of any help in that matter.”  
  
"One of the grooms told us how you and the master solved a murder while on your wedding trip, ma’am. Surely you can resolve a theft, too?"  
  
"I promise I shall think about it, Susan. Tell me everything you can about your sister."  
  
Shortly afterwards, a thoughtful Elizabeth went to her new sitting room—formerly her husband’s bedroom. The wall coverings and curtains reflected its earlier usage and would be changed while they were away. The bed had already been replaced by settees, armchairs and small tables. A lady’s desk was in a corner. A couple of wardrobes containings items that did not fit in their respective closets had also found place in that room. _This_ rather displeased both Smith and Reynolds, but they knew better than to object.  
  
Elizabeth sat at her desk and took up her pen, but had not written a word when her husband joined her.  
  
"Have you decided on a day for our departure?" he said as she turned to face him.  
  
"Not yet; something came up for which our assistance has been called."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Susan told me that her sister was in trouble."  
  
"Who is Susan?"  
  
"A scullery maid here. Her sister works as an upstairs maid for the Stavertons."  
  
"Does she need a new place, or help to raise her child?"  
  
"Pardon? No, not _that_ kind of trouble. I understood that one of Miss Staverton's necklaces has been stolen—or misplaced—and suspicion has been cast upon her."  
  
"And of course, our Susan cannot believe her sister is guilty of such a thing?"  
  
"So she told me. Do you know the Stavertons?"  
  
"Not very well. The mother is a friend of Lady Catherine. Or rather, she was."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"She thought that it would be a lovely idea if I were to marry Miss Staverton—the elder sister of the current Miss Staverton."  
  
Elizabeth giggled. "Well, given the change in your matrimonial situation, perhaps they will reconcile and condole with each other."  
  
"Perhaps. Back to Susan's sister: do you want us to call on the Stavertons and ask to speak to her? If she is their main suspect, I doubt she will be allowed to leave to visit us."  
  
"If you believe it could be done, yes, I should like that. Lucy Porter may well be the culprit, but I should like to find those pearls."  
  
One change of cravat later, they were on their way.  
  
**The Stavertons’ home, at noon the same day**  
  
An impassive butler led the Darcys to a drawing-room where they were joined by an agitated lady. Darcy introduced Elizabeth to Mrs Staverton and was about to state the object of their visit, when their hostess interrupted him.  
  
"You could not have chosen a better time to call!"  
  
Darcy looked at Elizabeth, whom Mrs Staverton addressed next.  
  
"Maybe you would not know, Mrs Darcy, for your husband is very modest and would not boast of his success, but it appears he is positively _marvellous_ when it comes to solving enigmas. My dear Staverton was at his club last week, and came back with nothing but praise for his deducing abilities. Would you believe that he caught a murderer in less than an hour?"  
  
"I heard something about this, yes."  
  
"So you will understand when I tell you that your presence is truly providential! You see, a pearl necklace I had from my mother has been stolen. It is to be Mrs Brent’s, of course—my eldest daughter, Mrs Darcy, she married last year—but all of my daughters wore it at their first ball. My dear Rosemary's, a fortnight ago, was a success, and she put the necklace in her jewel box after it. She thought about retrieving it yesterday to put it back in my possession, but by then it had disappeared, Mrs Darcy, _disappeared_!"  
  
"I see," said Darcy. "And who could have taken it?"  
  
"Lucy, of course. She is the one cleaning the rooms. But she will not confess! Even after my dear Staverton threatened her! Even after it was found in her rooms this morning!”  
  
“I do not understand,” said Elizabeth slowly. “If you have recovered the pearls and apprehended your thief, why do you need help?”  
  
“The necklace was not the only jewel to disappear, only the most noticeable. When we found it was not there anymore, Rosemary took stock of the remaining jewels, and a handful were missing. Small pieces that would be easier to trade than the necklace, I imagine. Among them was a brooch of great sentimental value that I had lent her, as well as some pearl pins that came from her grandmother. Lucy must and will be punished, of course, but still, this will not get my brooch back."  
  
"Who else?"  
  
"I do not understand?"  
  
"Who else could have stolen the jewels?"  
  
"No one."  
  
"Why ever not? Let me rephrase this question: who had access to your daughter's rooms and thus the jewel box, in addition to Lucy Porter and Miss Staverton? Her abigail, I presume?"  
  
"Walton has been working here for many years. We took her in when no one would; she would not dare perpetrate such a heinous crime! Gratitude would forbid it!"  
  
"I have found that gratitude is not as widespread as one would hope," Darcy said. "Who else? After all, there are many servants working in your house; it is likely that one or several of them could enter the room."  
  
"Perhaps," Mrs Staverton said with a shrug. "However, the necklace was still in the box the day before yesterday. Martin, our newest footman, is usually standing in the corridor and would have noticed someone entering."  
  
"We shall have to speak with him, as well as with your daughter, Walton and of course Lucy. One of them might have noticed something."  
  
“Where is Lucy Porter currently?” asked Elizabeth.  
  
“Under lock and key in the cellar. We shall have her imprisoned, but we fear that once she is in gaol, she will not reveal what she knows and the missing jewels will be lost forever.”  
  
“Could they not already be?”  
  
“No. She did not have any contact with anyone outside the house since before the items went missing.”  
  
“We shall do our best to find the truth, Mrs Staverton,” said Darcy gravely.  
  
"I knew I could depend on you!" their hostess answered, clapping her hands.  
  
She led them to a small study. Darcy sat at the desk, with Elizabeth at his side. The first to enter was Miss Staverton, who could only repeat what her mother said, adding only that until that moment, she had thought Lucy a good girl, but that the fact the pearls had been found in her room proved she was not.  
  
Neither the interview with Miss Walton nor that with Miss Porter led to anything; the former protested her innocence, and the former spoke of her certainty that the latter must have taken the missing items as well as the pearls. The footman came last and reported that he had seen no one but the family, Walton, and Lucy enter Miss Staverton's rooms. Darcy was confident that they would not have to wait very long before the culprit confessed.  
  
"Either the foorman has stolen it, or it is one of the other two," he told his wife as they found themselves alone again.  
  
"You think no one in the family would have done it?”  
  
“Why elaborate such a scheme? There are easier methods to get rid of a housemaid.”  
  
“Who do you think is the thief? I do not think Lucy is acting, her fear is genuine.”  
  
“She could be afraid of having been caught and of the fate that awaits her.”  
  
“This is true. Still, I think the girls are innocent. Walton has been there for too long, she must be trustworthy, and she looks like a good sort of person. I cannot picture her stealing.”  
  
“Do not judge on looks, Elizabeth. Mrs Younge seemed to be a good sort of person as well.”  
  
“Who is that?”  
  
“Georgiana’s former companion.”  
  
“I see. This is Mr Wickham all over again, is it not?”  
  
“No, Elizabeth. Miss Walton may be innocent; I am just saying that we must not rush our investigation, we have to learn a little bit more.”  
  
“What more is there to learn? We know Lucy is innocent, and Mrs Staverton vouches for Walton. Therefore, it _must_ be Martin! He is, after all, newly hired.”  
  
“It would have been difficult for him, however, to place the pearls in Lucy’s room. If the girl has been used as a scapegoat, then it would have been easier for Walton to incriminate her. No one is above suspicion. I thought so, once—and then what happened at Ramsgate proved me wrong.”  
  
“The situation here is completely different! To begin with, nobody here is in collusion with Mr Wickham.”  
  
“That we know of,” added Darcy with a smile. His wife huffed. “Elizabeth, Mr Wickham is not the only scoundrel in the kingdom.”  
  
“I am all astonishment—I thought you believed otherwise.”  
  
“If I did, the past months proved me wrong.”  
  
“True. So, how shall we act?”  
  
“I doubt Martin, Walton, or Lucy would tell us something new at this point,” Darcy sighed. “We must question the Stavertons’ butler and housekeeper.”  
  
“Since they are new in the household, I doubt we shall learn much about Martin or Lucy.”  
  
“Maybe not much, but we shall be able to enquire about their friends or acquaintances from outside the house, which could give us some new leads.”  
  
“Given the situation, Susan would have told me if there was someone questionable amongst her sister’s acquaintances.”  
  
“You never know, Elizabeth. Perhaps our maid is not aware of everything that happens in her sister’s life. I do agree it is doubtful we discover something about her or Martin in this manner, but I own I am more interested in Walton.”  
  
“As you wish. We shall question these people and see whether there is anything to uncover about Walton, thus leaving Martin all the time he needs to make the jewels disappear.”  
  
Darcy shook his head.  
  
“Sarcasm does not suit you, dear. Moreover, no one shall leave the house.”  
  
“But the brooch could still be hidden:”  
  
“It already is,” he countered, “if it is even in the house anymore.”  
  
**Five minutes later**  
  
“I still think this is a waste of time,” Elizabeth muttered as the housekeeper entered the room.  
  
On being asked what she knew about Martin and Lucy, that lady confirmed that it amounted to next to nothing—and nothing the Darcys did not already know. When it came to Walton, however, she had more to say. A lot of it was praise.  
  
“Such a great addition to the household! I could not find a more trustworthy person. It is such a shame she is saddled with such a good-for-nothing of a brother! It just breaks my heart. I shudder to think what she would have become had it not been for Mrs Staverton.”  
  
“Oh?” Darcy said, leaning forward. “Tell us more about her brother.”  
  
“He is the most despicable person I have the displeasure to know,” she replied, her face hardening. “A drunk, a gambler, and he would have sold his sister had he not realised he had more to gain if she were properly employed. Thomas—the butler—said he would not visit her ever again; I say good riddance!”  
  
After having thanked the woman for her answers, Darcy raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth, who huffed in reply. They then summoned the butler, who confirmed what the housekeeper had just told them and added some information of his own. Since the theft, very few members of the staff had been in contact with someone from outside. Lucy was not among them, but Walton was.  
  
“Lucy’s sister came to visit with her this morning—I understand she had the day off—but was turned down, given the circumstance. Walton’s brother came yesterday; he did not stay long. I found his visit surprising, to tell the truth.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“He usually shows up every couple of months, but this time his last visit had been just one week previously.”  
  
“Do you remember something about that particular visit?”  
  
The man scoffed. “Yes I do, sir. Walton was really distressed after he left, and I was of a mind to deny him entry when he came back.”  
  
“Yet, you did not?”  
  
“She arrived just when I was about to send him off and told me his visit would be short. It was.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“They stepped in a corner, she spoke to him quickly, but too quietly for me to hear anything, and then she shook his hand, and he went away. He told me he would never come back, but I doubt he will hold his word.”  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth looked at each other, and she slightly shook her head.  
  
“Thank you, that will be all. May you ask Miss Walton to come?”  
  
The butler nodded, and after he had closed the door behind him, Darcy turned towards his wife.  
  
“Do you still believe that Miss Walton has nothing to do with that theft?”  
  
“It appears you were right,” Elizabeth sighed. “No one is above suspicion. Do you wish for us to talk to her in private, or should it be done in presence of Mrs Staverton?”  
  
That question turned out to be moot, for when Walton came in, she was accompanied by her mistress, who did not appear happy.  
  
“What is the meaning of this?” she said as soon as she came in. “I thought I had been very clear: Walton has my trust, and to question her more is ludicrous!”  
  
“I beg your indulgence, Mrs Staverton,” said Darcy before turning towards the abigail. “Where do you think we could find your brother, Miss Walton?”  
  
This took her off-guard, and her nervousness showed.  
  
“My brother?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What is it to you,” she said, her voice more high-pitched than it had been, “and how should I know this?”  
  
“Did he not tell you where he was to go when he came to visit you yesterday, or earlier this week?”  
  
“Your brother came here twice in a sennight?” Mrs Staverton exclaimed. “This is unheard of. What did he want?”  
  
“Money, we suspect,” said Darcy. “And when what she had to give was not enough for him—”  
  
“No! You lie! _Lucy_ did this. _She_ had the pearls in her possession!”  
  
“Had she?” Elizabeth mused. “True, they were found in her _room_ , but anyone could have placed them there.”  
  
“Moreover,” her husband interjected, “if Lucy Porter stole the jewels, why were the other pieces not found with the pearls?”  
  
“She disposed of them already!”  
  
“Why those and not the pearls, then?”  
  
“I fail to see how this incriminates Walton more than Lucy,” Mrs Staverton protested.  
  
“Walton did not need the pearls _per se_ ,” said Elizabeth. “However, she needed a diversion. The pearls had to be found in order to incriminate another, in order to distract the attention from herself. I ask you again, Miss Walton: where is your brother?”  
  
“I don’t know!”  
  
“I do not believe you.”  
  
“He told me he would leave England, and I did not feel the need to know more!”  
  
Walton crossed her arms and, lifting her chin, looked defiantly at the Darcys. They stared back.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Why what?”  
  
“Why did you steal those jewels, why did you put the blame on Lucy Porter?”  
  
“I did nothing of the kind,” the abigail insisted. The Darcys said nothing, and only looked at her intently, until she shuffled in her seat and spat: “Why do you care for her? What is she to _you_?”  
  
“To us precisely, no one,” Darcy said. “However, you are not the only one who cares for her sibling.”  
  
“It bears mentioning that some siblings are more deserving than others,” Elizabeth went on. “How many second chances did you give your brother?”  
  
“Was it worth throwing away your life?” her husband added.  
  
“I do not understand what you mean,” Walton insisted, crossing her arms and frowning.  
  
“It is clear enough. Your loyalty to your undeserving brother obviously trumps the gratitude you owe Mrs Staverton.”  
  
Mrs Staverton may not have added anything up to that point, but she had been a most attentive listener. Her face had gone from outrage, to doubt, to dismay.  
  
“Please tell me they are wrong,” she whispered, horrified.  
  
“You cannot believe them, ma’am!”  
  
“I do not _wish_ to, but what they say makes sense … after all, _you_ saw your brother, while Lucy was denied seeing her sister and thus could not have handled the jewels out.”  
  
This was apparently all that was needed to make to woman snap.  
  
“They would have _killed_ him if he did not pay them back! I could not let him die!”  
  
Mrs Staverton’s face settled again on outrage—but this time, her target had changed.  
  
"You chose him over us, when he had all but abandoned you? Where is your sense of loyalty? How _could_ you?"  
  
Walton did not answer and was quietly sobbing. Further questioning revealed that her brother had likely sold the items already and was on his way to greener pastures. Miss Walton only knew he was to catch a boat that was to depart with the evening tide. She had no idea where he could have pawned the jewels, or if he had even done so in London. The Staverton ladies thus lost both their keepsake and their servant.  
  
**That evening, the Darcys' house**  
  
“What do you think will happen to Walton?” Elizabeth said while watching Reynolds pack her clothes. “Will she hang?”  
  
“I doubt so. It is more likely she will be transported to New South Wales.”  
  
“This is dreadful,” Elizabeth sighed. “All this because of her good for nothing brother, yet I cannot find it in myself to pity her too much. She had no compunction about sending Miss Porter to the same fate, after all.”  
  
“Speaking of her, will we need to find her a new position?”  
  
“I do not think it will be necessary. While you were glaring at the window and waiting for our carriage to be brought, I had a nice discussion with Mrs Staverton. She feels wretched for having treated Porter so dreadfully and was speaking of offering her Walton’s position.”  
  
“Good. Are we ready to go?”  
  
“Yes. We shall leave tomorrow at first light for the dullness of Hertfordshire.”  
  
“As long as your mother lives there, Elizabeth, I doubt Longbourn could be called dull. Ow! What was that?”  
  
Elizabeth glared at her husband while he rubbed his arm.  
  
“ _That_ was my left slipper. _You_ do not get to disparage my mother!”  
  
“Very well,” he conceded. “Would it be better to say that I doubt I shall ever live a dull moment as long as you are around?”  
  
She tried to frown but ended laughing. Soon, all thoughts of Miss Walton and her brother receded as they spoke of the most desirable event that would soon take place in Longbourn’s chapel.


	9. Another Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No mystery to be solved this time. Instead, our heroes deal with staying at Longbourn before a wedding while Elizabeth endeavours to Avoid The Talk. Sounds familiar?

**Longbourn, Thursday 28 May**  
  
The Darcys’ journey had suffered no disturbance, much to Elizabeth’s disappointment. Her mother had received them enthusiastically; her father, after greeting her and her husband with pleasure, had absconded with the latter in his library. Though she had been annoyed at the men’s desertion, Elizabeth decided to make the most of that opportunity and give her mother a warning about George Wickham’s character. It soon appeared that she should not have worried.  
  
“Why do you feel you have to warn us against the officers, Lizzy?”  
  
“Maybe not all the officers, Mama. Some of them, and Mr Wickham amongst them, are merely fortune hunters.”  
  
“Your sisters have no fortune,” Mrs Bennet shrugged. “Such men would not be interested in marrying them—and do not try to suggest that your sisters could be susceptible to _other_ offers.”  
  
Elizabeth, who was just about to express such an opinion, immediately voiced another one.  
  
“They may lack fortunes, but with my marriage, and soon Jane’s, they will gain connections. These could appeal to the officers.”  
  
Mrs Bennet sniffed.  
  
“My daughters can do better than marry a mere captain. It is such a shame that Colonel Johnson is married! He might have done very well for Kitty or Mary.”  
  
“Not Lydia?”  
  
“Oh, no, he is not quite dashing enough. Will you take Lydia to London with you? I am sure she would meet more interesting young men than she does in Hertfordshire. The society here is so unvarying!”  
  
Amazed at hearing her mother profess the exact opposite of the opinion she held half a year previously, Elizabeth could only blink while her mother continued on the next subject.  
  
“Now, Lizzy, you have been married for one month. Are you satisfied with how Mr Darcy treats you?”  
  
“Yes, Mama. I am convinced he is the best of men.”  
  
“Good. This is a relief—you will not mind sharing your old room with him? With your uncle and aunt coming from London, I could not give you two rooms, and though Mr Bingley has offered to host you, it would not do to have my own daughter residing at Netherfield when she visits the area!”  
  
“Actually, Mama,” Elizabeth said haltingly, “I thought that maybe I could share Jane’s room.”  
  
This brought Mrs Bennet’s seemingly unstoppable ramblings to a halt.  
  
For a couple of heartbeats.  
  
“You just told me that your husband treated you well!”  
  
“He does! I have no complaints.”  
  
“Why, then, do you wish to avoid him?”  
  
“It is not that I want to avoid him, but I am melancholy at the thought of Jane marrying and going away.”  
  
“Netherfield is not so far away from Longbourn, and you are already married, it cannot be such a change for you!”  
  
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said with a shrug. “However, this will be my last opportunity to share rooms with Jane as we did when we were girls, and I want to seize the occasion.”  
  
“As you wish, Lizzy—if your husband doesn’t object, it is not my place to do so.”  
  
**Elizabeth’s former room, later that evening**  
  
Elizabeth and Darcy were dressed for dinner, but there was still time before they would be called downstairs and they had decided to stay upstairs in order to—according to Elizabeth—build Darcy’s tolerance for the ambient silliness.  
  
“Did you manage to warn my father about Mr Wickham? I tried to tell my mother about him specifically but could never get to the point of saying his name. She says she would not encourage her daughters to go after officers, but I do not know whether it will be enough.”  
  
“I am afraid your father was eager to get back to his book and waved away my concerns. He appeared to believe that your sisters were either too staid to have their heads turned by officers, or too silly to be of any interest to them.”  
  
Elizabeth frowned.  
  
“I really dislike it when my mother’s reaction is more sensible than my father’s.”  
  
“What did she say?” asked her husband.  
  
“That my sisters should aim for no less than a Colonel.”  
  
Darcy looked at her blankly.  
  
“It is not as if they were many of them around!”  
  
“No, but you do realise it will make my cousin wary of visiting us.”  
  
“It does not strike me as a great loss.”  
  
A square of fabric fluttered in her general direction before landing on the carpet. She looked at it with curiosity.  
  
“Is that your handkerchief?”  
  
“It is,” was the frustrated answer. “I thought it would be ungentlemanly to throw anything heavier at you, but the trajectory suffered as a result. Be that as it may, you do not get to disparage my cousin.”  
  
**Longbourn, Saturday 30 May**  
  
The days had been spent between visits and wedding preparations. That night, when she retired, Elizabeth found that Jane was not in their room. She joined her soon afterwards, though, and Elizabeth was about to blow the last candle when her sister halted her.  
  
“Lizzy, may I ask you something?”  
  
“Of course, Jane!”  
  
“It is somewhat delicate …” Jane fidgeted with the coverlet, drew a breath, and spoke at last. “Mama spoke to me just now about marital intimacy.”  
  
Elizabeth froze. In the dimness of the room, Jane did not notice her sister’s stillness and went on.  
  
“It was all very puzzling, and sometimes a little startling. Did you find there was much truth in what she said?”  
  
“Do you truly want me to answer this?”  
  
Jane nodded.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Elizabeth rose, grabbed her robe, and exited the room. A handful of second later, she entered her husband’s.  
  
“Elizabeth?” a drowsy voice greeted her. “Is everything well?”  
  
“No!”  
  
Bedclothes rustled.  
  
“What is the matter?” The voice was sharper as well.  
  
“Jane wants me to talk to her!”  
  
Her cry was met with silence only.  
  
“Mr Darcy?”  
  
“I had been under the impression that this was precisely the reason why you wished to share a room with her.”  
  
“Do not make sport of me!”  
  
“I would not dare. You are wearing slippers and have a remarkable aim.”  
  
Elizabeth huffed.  
  
“She wants me to tell her about _marriage_! More specifically, the consummation part!”  
  
“So?”  
  
“This is all you have to say?”  
  
“It is late, Elizabeth. If you do not have an answer from a book, claim tiredness and elude her as best as you can until you can locate something in the library.”  
  
“Do you have any more bright ideas? May I remind you that I do not have one moment of peace during the day? When Mama does not want my advice on her choices for the wedding breakfast or Jane’s dress, Lydia and Kitty plague me about the latest London fashions. Where would I have the time to investigate my father’s library?”  
  
“I could endeavour to locate one volume for you.”  
  
“Truly?”  
  
“Truly.”  
  
“That would be lovely, thank you!”  
  
Elizabeth practically skipped back to Jane’s room and was relieved to see that Jane had fallen asleep while waiting for her.  
  
**Longbourn, Monday 1 June**  
  
Elizabeth had been granted a reprieve the day before. When they had awoken, she had assured her elder sister that she had not forgotten her question, but did not quite know how to answer it, and would talk to her once her thoughts were organised.  
  
Then they all went to church, where Mrs Bennet showed off her daughters; the afternoon was spent in the midst of the family. When it was time to change for dinner, Darcy had handed Elizabeth a book, and she had hidden in her childhood room to read it once they all retired for the night, only going back to Jane’s once she was reasonably certain her sister was asleep.  
  
Avoidance could not last forever, and she steeled herself for an awkward conversation, when relief came in the form of a tea given by her mother to all the local matrons but one. Their Aunt Philips had volunteered to host Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, while the gentlemen had gone fishing.  
  
Elizabeth thought nothing much of the fact that of all the assembled ladies, only Jane was unmarried, until—much to her relief—the conversation veered on the very subject she had tried to avoid. Her first thought was that so many ladies would impart their knowledge that her not saying anything would pass unnoticed. She was wrong, but her blushing and mumbling that she could really not say anything appeared to satisfy their company. How they could believe that she had gained some shyness and modesty upon her marriage, Elizabeth did not know, but she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. More importantly, a look at Jane allowed her to see that no more questions would come from that quarter—and indeed, that night, after confirming that the discussion had answered most of her interrogations, Jane apologised for having brought up the subject with her when she knew Elizabeth did not speak easily of personal matters. Elizabeth, in turn, entreated her to communicate with her husband—if anything, the diversity of opinions shared that afternoon hinted at the fact that not one married couple dealt with intimacy in an identical fashion.  
  
**Longbourn, Tuesday 2 June**  
  
The day passed much as the previous ones had, and Elizabeth anticipated a bedtime conversation with Jane regarding their hopes for the future interspersed with reminiscences of their childhood, but Mrs Bennet had other plans for her daughters. Jane was sent to bed early with camomile tea, in anticipation of her rising sooner than was her wont, for her mother was of the mind that no less than three hours would be needed to dress Jane and coiff her to perfection. Elizabeth would have followed her, but was instead led to her mother’s room where she was offered a seat and a glass of wine.  
  
“Now, Elizabeth, I didn’t want to ask you this yesterday, because it would be far too soon for you to experiment much—at least, I hope so!” she began. “In any case, though you would speak of your mother about this, the rest of the world can wait before you need to hint at such news. Well, I dare say your husband may be informed. Your housekeeper as well, it will make it easier to arrange things to your satisfaction that way.”  
  
Elizabeth looked at her blankly.  
  
“Of course,” continued Mrs Bennet, “certain hints do come early, though you will never know for sure until the quickening.”  
  
On understanding what her mother was speaking about, Elizabeth endeavoured to find a way to extricate herself from the situation as quickly as she could.  
  
“Mrs Gardiner—”  
  
“—has had a hard time with her pregnancies and lying-ins, and her accounts would only serve to frighten you.”  
  
_Blast! Try again, Elizabeth._  
  
“Lady Catherine—”  
  
“—has only one daughter.” said Mrs Bennet with a sniff.  
  
“Yes, but she takes an extraordinary interest in the happenings of her parish. She is exceedingly well informed about a wide range of subjects, and, er, takes delight in educating her neighbour.”  
  
“Is it so?”  
  
“Yes, Mama.”  
  
“It is very vexing that you should have already been told this when it should be your mother’s place to do so!” huffed Mrs Bennet. “I imagine that you could not do otherwise than indulge her, since she is your husband’s aunt. Still, I will be very cross if you do not write to _me_ whenever you suspect you are increasing.”  
  
“I ... I do not think such a letter will be forthcoming for now, Mama.” On seeing that her mother appeared worried, and wanting to prevent  further questioning, she hastened to add: “I promise you will be the first I shall write to in that eventuality.”  
  
That appeared to appease Mrs Bennet, whose worry morphed into mere disappointment, and Elizabeth was released. Before she went to sleep, though, she made a detour to her husband’s room in order to extract from him the promise to never willingly put Mrs Bennet and the Earl of —— in each other’s presence.  
  
**Longbourn, Wednesday 3 June**  
  
Mrs Bennet had never been as elated than on the day on which she got rid of her eldest daughter. One would have imagined that Elizabeth’s wedding would have pleased her more, but it did not account for the young people’s disposition. Mr Darcy may be the richer of the two, but he was less likely to yield to her entreaties than the amiable Mr Bingley. Likewise, Jane, peace-maker that she was, would not oppose her as strongly as Elizabeth would. That the Bingleys would be settled only three miles away from Longbourn further pleased Mrs Bennet. Not being the favourites suited the Darcys very well. However, they wondered how many months would pass before the Bingleys would talk about not renewing the lease.


	10. Case 8 - Death, er, Dairy Comes to Pemberley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I wouldn't post more until I had a couple of near-ready cases to post ... and in the end, I can't tell you when Case #9 will be ready to post. This one is short, and I’m afraid I was in the mood for nonsense, so while there is an actual mystery for our duo to solve, in a way, this is still an interlude.(Also, I have a Wonderful Beta Team who manages to catch a lot of things, but I still fiddle with the text, so if you see anything we didn't seewrong, don't hesitate to tell!)

**Saturday 6 June 1812**  
  
The Darcys had left Longbourn the day after the Bingley wedding in order to make their way to Pemberley, where a library with entire shelves filled with anatomy and botany books awaited Elizabeth. On their last afternoon in Hertfordshire, they had taken a final stroll through the outskirts of Meryton which had taken them to the place where Colonel Forster had met his unfortunate end. The traces of it had been long gone, yet Elizabeth could see the scene in her mind as she reminisced about the event.  
  
She threw a fond glance at Darcy, who was dozing off in his corner of the carriage—inns, even the best ones, were not very restful places—before turning her attention back to their surroundings. The carriage had left the turnpike some time ago, and she thought at first that they had entered a property, but the road seemed to go on endlessly, and Elizabeth began to think that she had been mistaken until, once the carriage crested the hill, she could observe the opposite side of the valley. There, on a rising slope, stood a big—and, she supposed, lovely—house.  
  
“Mr Darcy?”  
  
“Mmmh?”  
  
“Have we arrived?”  
  
“Are you always so restless when you travel?” he asked with a smile, without opening his eyes.  
  
“I was merely wondering whether that pretty house over there is yours.”  
  
At once, his eyes opened.  
  
“Already?” After a glance outside, he said: “Yes, this is Pemberley. I am sorry I could not tell you when we entered the park.”  
  
With a shrug, Elizabeth indicated that she did not mind this much, for she would have the possibility to acquaint herself with its boundaries later. Darcy smiled.  
  
“Very true. Will you acquaint yourself with the house first?”  
  
“At least its housekeeper. I must meet Reynolds’s sister—though I think any lengthy conversation will wait until they have the time to get reacquainted.”  
  
“She travelled with Smith ahead of us for the last stretch of the journey and has had enough time for a family reunion; her—their first duty is to you.”  
  
“I do not mind a little wait, Mr Darcy, if it means I do not have to deal with a distracted housekeeper or abigail. Who knows how my hair would end being styled if I did?”  
  
“You wear a cap.”  
  
“I fail to see how this is relevant!”  
  
“Have I already told you how confusing you are?”  
  
“I shall take this as a compliment.”  
  
As Elizabeth was talking, the carriage entered a courtyard and stopped by the house’s front steps. Darcy alighted and assisted his wife to do the same before he led her inside, where most of the staff were assembled under the direction of Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper, and Mr Bottler, the butler.  
  
**Pemberley, Tuesday 9 June**  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth were in the library, respectively writing letters and reading, when Mrs Reynolds came in, apparently distressed. When she did not speak, Darcy prompted her.  
  
“What is it, Mrs Reynolds?”  
  
“Cheese, sir.”  
  
“Cheese?”  
  
“Someone has been leaving cheese on Pemberley’s front steps since you have arrived. Stilton first. Sage Derby yesterday. And today, cheddar!”  
  
“Why are you telling this now, Mrs Reynolds?” asked Elizabeth.  
  
“The first two could have been presents from villagers, madam. The cheddar, however, is not a local cheese.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Moreover, I had a watch set in order to determine who brought it, and nobody was seen.”  
  
“The logical conclusion would be that one of the footmen in your watch is part of the scheme,” Darcy offered.  
  
“They would not dare, sir!” said Mrs Reynolds with a gasp. “The newly-hired ones for fear of being let go at once, and the older because they esteem you too much.”  
  
“Thank you for telling us, Mrs Reynolds. This is harmless, but I should not want the household to be disturbed. For now we shall do nothing, but if this goes on, please, tell us.”  
  
The housekeeper curtsied and left.  
  
“Footmen playing pranks, Mr Darcy?” his wife said once the door closed behind the housekeeper. “I did not imagine this could be a feature of Pemberley.”  
  
It seemed Darcy did not hear her. He frowned, scowled, rose, and quickly walked towards the door.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“I am going to find that—”  
  
Here he stopped and appeared to recollect himself. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I thought _he_ was behind it.”  
  
“I thought you were getting better on that point,” Elizabeth remarked.  
  
“I _am_. However, I have too many memories involving a prank, good or bad-natured, played by Wickham on these grounds, and it is not so easy to shake off my natural inclination _here_ , at Pemberley.”  
  
Elizabeth’s teasing retort died on her lips when someone knocked on the door, and after Darcy had called to enter, Mrs Reynolds came in again.  
  
“A carriage has been spotted, sir, madam.”  
  
“Thank you, Mrs Reynolds.” Darcy turned towards his wife. “I did not expect anyone. Did you?”  
  
“No. My father told me he might visit unexpectedly, but we just left him … could it be your uncle?”  
  
“There are specific signals for familiar visitors. Mrs Reynolds would have told us.”  
  
The newcomer turned out to be a gentleman and a near-stranger. Darcy had made Mr Dannyople’s acquaintance through his Fitzwilliam cousins, as that gentleman and the Viscount were members of the same club. However, they had not enough in common for a closer relationship to develop, and his presence on their doorstep baffled Darcy.  
  
“Mr Darcy!” Dannyople said, beaming, on entering the drawing-room where his hosts had moved. “It has been a long time. I have heard that you were married,” he added with a bow towards Elizabeth, “and as my business took me in the north, I could not miss the opportunity to make her acquaintance.”  
  
“Elizabeth, let me introduce to you Gervaise Dannyople, an acquaintance from London. Mr Dannyople, my wife, Elizabeth Darcy.”  
  
They exchanged the usual pleasantries before sitting for tea, and somehow, managed to extend to him an invitation to stay a couple of weeks.  
  
**Pemberley, Wednesday 10 June**  
  
Darcy stormed into his wife’s dressing-room.  
  
“Now this is too much!”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“There was an jug of _milk_ on my dressing-table.”  
  
Elizabeth burst into laughter. Her husband huffed.  
  
“It was exactly where the ewer usually is! I only noticed at the last moment that the liquid was not supposed to be white!”  
  
This did not help his wife’s laughter to subside, and yet she stopped all of a sudden.  
  
“White’s. Milk.”  
  
“Elizabeth?”  
  
“Darcy, what if the dairy was White’s?”  
  
“Dairy _is_ generally white or off-white, dear,” answered her husband. “Now, will you please stop glaring at me?”  
  
“I think White’s may bear some responsibility for our dairy infestation.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“I read, you know.”  
  
“Oh yes.”  
  
“In addition of being places of gossip—”  
  
“Information gathering.”  
  
“—clubs are also dens of gambling and betting.”  
  
“One step up from vice and iniquity. Your point?”  
  
“Bets have to be verified. What if the arrival of that gentleman on our doorstep at that time was no coincidence?”  
  
“This could be an explanation,” Darcy said slowly, “but how could we verify that hypothesis?”  
  
She threw him an exasperated glance. “Have you no acquaintances amongst the members of that club that would be willing to look at that book for you?”  
  
“There may be a rule against sharing such things with non-club members.”  
  
“You shall not know until you ask, and even if there is such a rule, it is possible that you may get answered in vague terms.”  
  
“Very well. I shall write to Uncle Earl, he may be able to inform us.”  
  
**The breakfast parlour, Saturday 13 June**  
  
“Nothing new this morning?”  
  
“Mrs Reynolds informed me they found cream in the kitchens,” said Elizabeth, putting some of it on a scone.  
  
“After what we had these last days, it sounds disappointing. Is that not a normal place where to find dairy?”  
  
Elizabeth shrugged. At that moment, Weston came in with the post. Amongst the letters from Darcy’s friends and Elizabeth’s family was a letter from the Earl of ——, which had been sent by express. Elizabeth entreated Darcy to open it at once.  
  
“I was right,” he said once the footmen had left them alone. “Uncle Earl says that it would not do to share with a non-member the internal workings of the club. However, you were also right: he then continues by telling me that there was always some speculation about whom I should marry, and that _someone_ in his acquaintance _might_ have said that, were my spouse unknown in London, he would eat his hat, whereupon _someone else_ might have said that this was unpalatable and suggested a prank instead.”  
  
“Why would you not have heard of this until now?”  
  
“There was no such betting at Boodle’s, and even if there were, I am not one to look into the betting books.”  
  
“Maybe you should from now on. Back to our dairy: apart from Mr Dannyople, nobody from London has been seen here recently.”  
  
“No _gentleman_ from London,” said Elizabeth thoughtfully. “Did Mrs Reynolds not say that she hired additional footmen? I think we ought to meet them.”  
  
“You believe the man whose bet Dannyople is verifying bribed one of our servants?”  
  
“That, or he had one of _his_ servants take a position here, or he did so himself.”  
  
“I should have noticed it if one of my acquaintances impersonated a footman!”  
  
“Not necessarily: you may not have looked further than the livery, especially if he took care to avoid being remarked.”  
  
Darcy scowled, but did not contradict her. He rang for Mr Bottler, who agreed to summon all the new footmen in his office under some pretext, so that the jokester could not excuse himself from the upcoming confrontation. Indeed, when, on entering, Darcy looked past the clothes and wigs, it was not long before he identified a man who should not have been there. His performance of looking the unsuspecting man was quite good.  
  
“Lord Littleworth, what an unexpected pleasure.”  
  
With this, the act was up. Darcy thanked his butler, dismissed the other footmen, and invited Lord Littleworth to join them in the drawing-room, which he did after changing into clothes more fitting his station.  
  
Elizabeth was the only one who did not know Albert Norman, Viscount Littleworth, heir to the Earl of Templeton, and after this introduction was made, Darcy asked the question to which he most wished an answer.  
  
“Tell me, Lord Littleworth, how did you manage to get hired at Pemberley?”  
  
“Please call me Norman! As for what you ask, that was the easiest thing in the world. I contacted one of your footmen, whom I shall not name, for the poor chap doesn’t deserve to be fired, and he helped me to get the interview with your butler, nothing more.”  
  
“He was nonetheless aware of the prank, and though it was harmless, I do not like the idea of harbouring someone I know I cannot always trust. How did you ever get acquainted with one of my footmen?”  
  
“You remember George Wickham? Of course you do,” he added on seeing his host’s scowl. “I met him in Brighton the other day; he is now in the army, and could tell me who might help me in my scheme.”  
  
“Why would he do such a thing?” asked Elizabeth, while the involvement of his childhood friend in the matter brought a smug look on her husband’s face.  
  
“He always liked a good joke. We … played cards together often at Cambridge.”  
  
“Burgess,” said Darcy, and the other three looked at him. “He and Wickham got along quite well when we were young, therefore I have ensured he has no access to anything sensitive.”  
  
Lord Littleworth’s studied air of indifference was all the confirmation the Darcys needed. They offered their guests an invitation to extend their stay, which was politely refused at first, before Elizabeth pointed that, unless they planned to travel on the mail coach, they would have to break their travel for one day on the morrow. It was decided that they would leave early on Monday.  
  
**Wednesday 17 June**  
  
Elizabeth entered her husband’s study and took a seat. Darcy, who had been attending his correspondence, did not return to it once he noticed that she appeared slightly restless.  
  
“Has something else come up? Butter on the window sills as a parting gift, perhaps?”  
  
“Can I not merely come for the pleasure of your company?”  
  
“I may have believed you if it were not for that library three doors from here.”  
  
Elizabeth sighed. “Mrs Reynolds cannot follow me here.”  
  
“Mrs Reynolds?” Darcy said, his eyebrows raised.  
  
“Yes! She wanted my advice for the redecoration of the _nursery_!”  
  
“Those rooms may be in need of … something,” he mused.  
  
Elizabeth glared at him.  
  
“Dear, would you not like for your nephews and nieces to be adequately hosted?”  
  
“Yes,” she said, relaxing. “However, you do know that this is not what Mrs Reynolds has in mind. It sounds as if she has been corresponding with Uncle Earl.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“Of course, she would not have dared to allude to such a matter in your presence.”  
  
“I do not know,” said Darcy slowly. “She _has_ spoken about hearing little feet again.”  
  
They stayed silent for a time, until Elizabeth noticed a pile of letters.  
  
“Are there any invitations in there?”  
  
“Let me see … congratulations … again … yes! Ah, no, you would find them tedious … more congratulations … there! My friend Ridgeway asks that I and my _lovely wife_ join them for a house party he is giving in Hampshire. They are already there but would be happy to receive us at any point from now until the end of July. Would that please you?”  
  
“Write to them, please—I shall ask Reynolds to pack right away!”


	11. Case 9 - A Perilous Pastime

**Tuesday 23 June, Sunningdale, Hampshire**  
  
The Darcys had travelled smoothly and, after having broken their journey in London on Sunday, had arrived at Sunningdale late the previous day. Letters had been exchanged via Darcy’s rider, and the Ridgeways had been awaiting them even though all their guests had already retired, waving away their apologies by saying that they understood the displeasure that was had when staying at an inn. At this, Darcy had barely restrained a shudder.  
  
They met most of the guests at breakfast and were first introduced to Lord and Lady Cortlandt—he was the heir of the Earl of Mustmakeupaname 1 and had recently married the former Mrs Johnson, whose husband, a well to-do tradesman, had died some years previously and conveniently left her his considerable fortune. Lord Cortlandt, in common with most of the men of the party, had been at university with Mr Ridgeway. The Darcys were also introduced to Mr and Mrs Scott, Mr Appleton and his father-in-law Sir James Hargrave, and Mr and Mrs Marsh. Mrs Appleton, they understood, had elected to have a tray in her room instead of coming down.  
  
The hours that followed allowed Elizabeth to form opinions about her new acquaintances. She liked the Ridgeways, the Cortlandts and the Scotts right away. The Marshes were more often by themselves than in company, but from what Elizabeth saw, they were decorous and quiet. Mr Appleton she liked well enough, though he somewhat diminished in her esteem once she met his wife. Mrs Appleton was a haughty, arrogant person, prone to mean gossip and eager to discover one’s secrets. She had learned about Elizabeth’s connections, or lack thereof, and the new Mrs Darcy could not help but think that the woman was busy speculating about how such an insignificant country miss had caught the attentions of one of the most coveted gentlemen on the marriage market. The thought made her smile. Mrs Appleton nonetheless had her uses: it was she who told Elizabeth that the Marshes were related to their hosts, as his first wife had been the former Miss Ridgeway.  
  
“She died some years ago. Such a tragedy! And then he married her nurse. _That_ set tongues wagging, I can tell you. He had barely mourned her one month, and there were no children! Still, I suppose he felt he had mourned her already when she was alive—she lingered for an awfully long time.”  
  
There was no guest about whom Mrs Appleton did not know some gossip, and while she kept silent about her father and husband, the others were given no such courtesy.  
  
“Lady Cortlandt was not one of _us_ either, you know. Would you believe that her first husband was a _tradesman_? He died in some tragic accident.” She leant closer to Elizabeth and whispered, “Rumour had it that he committed _suicide_ , but the magistrate ruled differently, no doubt endeavouring to spare Mrs Johnson’s feelings—that was her name then. He was buried in consecrated ground, and that was it.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded. It appeared nothing more was expected of her. Mrs Appleton had moved on to the Scotts: _her_ money came from trade and _he_ was rumoured to have more interest than what was expected of a gentleman for the cloth factories in the north.  
  
**Friday 26 June**  
  
Elizabeth greatly enjoyed her stay at Sunningdale. She would have enjoyed it more had Mrs Appleton not been present, since the lady appeared to think that only Mrs Darcy and Mrs Ridgeway were elevated enough to benefit from her society—Elizabeth surmised that no dowry at all was preferable, in the lady’s opinion, to a dowry from trade, and thought that poor Miss Bingley would be spinning in her grave. Luckily for Elizabeth, Mrs Appleton was rarely seen before noon, thus she was at leisure to enjoy her mornings.  
  
She and Darcy had finished their breakfast at about the same time as Sir James Hargrave, and since the younger gentleman had to attend to his correspondence, the older one had offered to take Mrs Darcy for a turn in the gardens, which she had happily accepted. After a walk through the park, they came back to the house through the rose gardens. Elizabeth paused to smell a flower, and meant to take hold of it in order to get it closer to her face, only for her finger to land on a thorn. She yelped.  
  
She had removed her hand at once and was looking at her white lace glove, hoping that they had not become stained—Reynolds would be unhappy with her; perhaps it would be better if she wore black or deep red gloves—when Sir James’s teasing voice interrupted her musings.  
  
“Afraid you will have to ask your husband for another pair already? Fear not, new husbands are happy enough to shower their brides with gifts—and sometimes,” he chuckled, “even not-so-new husbands do the same.”  
  
“Do they?” she answered with a smile.  
  
“Absolutely! Appleton is forever giving his wife new trinkets. I own I rather spoiled her as a child—she is my only daughter, and I could never say no to her—but I expected that her husband would be able to curtail her spending habits. As it is, he is so liberal that I would swear she is even more spoiled now than she was as a young girl,” he sighed.  
  
There was nothing Elizabeth could answer to this, for she did not believe her companion would enjoy any comparisons between Mrs Appleton and the youngest Miss Bennet. They resumed their walk and entered the house just in time to change for dinner.  
  
It was a lively affair as usual, though Elizabeth’s enjoyment of it was dampened by Mrs Appleton’s insinuations. It had been clear, from the first day, that she did not think much of Mrs Marsh’s and Lady Cortlandt’s origins, and she never missed an occasion to remind them of this. Elizabeth was surprised to have been spared such vitriol, but supposed that there had been some truth in Darcy’s affirmation that, as a gentleman and a gentleman’s daughter, their match did not appear out of the ordinary. Still, she nearly lost her composure on hearing Mrs Appleton making a pointed remark about the convenience of the death of one’s spouse—while looking at Lady Cortlandt with a falsely sweet smile.  
  
**Saturday 27 June, early morning or late night**  
  
Elizabeth woke with a start. There was shouting. People were running in the corridors, doors were slammed. Intent on discovering what was happening, she put on a robe and entered the dressing-room, intending to wake her husband so that _he_ would go out and gather information. As it happened, he had been awakened also and had already sent Smith to inquire about the cause of the disturbance. The valet was not long in returning.  
  
“It is Mrs Appleton, sir,” he reported. “She is in distress.”  
  
“What kind of distress?” Elizabeth asked.  
  
“Maybe some food poisoning, madam. The apothecary has been called.”  
  
“Thank you, Smith. You may go.” He turned towards Elizabeth. “Will you go back to your room? I shall snuff the candle once you are gone.”  
  
She shook her head. “I intend to go to Mrs Appleton’s side.”  
  
“Why would you do such a thing? You do not like her.”  
  
“Nobody does, which is why I have to check whether it could be something more sinister than food poisoning. May I take your candle?”  
  
Darcy looked as if he would object but, apparently thinking better of it, waved for her to go before settling on his pillow again.  
  
It was easy for Elizabeth to find Mrs Appleton’s rooms, for a lot of noise originated from it—though once one was in the room, the smells were more overwhelming than the sounds. Most of it was the doing of the invalid, whose sufferings were all too real. There were cramps, diarrhea, retching—Elizabeth noticed there was blood mixed in the lady’s vomit. Mrs Appleton’s state worsened through the rest of the night, and when, at last, the apothecary came, he could only tell them to prepare for the worst. There was nothing to do, he felt, but giving her laudanum to make her more comfortable.  
  
There was some panic, as someone emitted the fear that the illness could spread, thus the apothecary agreed to ascertain the health of every person in the house. No one else was sick, thus reason returned—except for Mrs Appleton, whose state could only be described as confused.  
  
Elizabeth had gone back to her room to dress, and her husband entered as Reynolds buttoned her dress and did her hair.  
  
“What is your opinion, Elizabeth?”  
  
“I suspect she has been poisoned, I do not yet know how, nor whether this is accidental or criminal. I shall return to her room and find a way to get answers.”  
  
“In case this is not an accident, who would you suspect?”  
  
“Neither her father nor her husband look like they have a hand in it; they appear devastated. They have been by Mrs Appleton’s side for hours, trying to give her relief, to no avail. I fear we shall lose her soon, if not from her illness, from overconsumption of laudanum.”  
  
“Would that not be best for her than lingering and suffering for days.?”  
  
“That would prevent us to learn anything about the causes of her affliction.”  
  
By then, Reynolds had secured the lace cap on Elizabeth’s head, and that lady rose.  
  
“I shall endeavour to question Mrs Appleton. I hope she will be lucid enough for me to do so.”  
  
Alas, when Elizabeth stepped into the lady’s room, she was already dead.  
  
**Saturday 27 June, in the afternoon**  
  
Mrs Appleton’s body had been carried to the ice house, and Elizabeth had decided to let Darcy have a look in her room. His gaze was arrested by a box of candied fruit which appeared to have fallen from the nightstand. He picked it up.  
  
“What is that?”  
  
“Sugar. Is it not obvious?” said Elizabeth, shuffling through the desk. “I think this may have been the last earthly pleasure of poor Mrs Appleton.”  
  
Darcy opened the lid.  
  
“It could have been: the box is half empty. I recognise that kind of box; it comes from an exclusive confectioner in London.” His wife did not answer. “Elizabeth, how did she get that box?”  
  
“I have not the least idea. Probably her father or her husband.”  
  
“Maybe we should check its provenance, do you not think?”  
  
“Mmmmh? Oh, yes, as you wish.”  
  
Sighing, Darcy left Elizabeth to her exploration of the desk and rang for Mrs Appleton’s maid. The discussion was short: the abigail remembered that the box had appeared on Mrs Appleton’s dressing table the previous evening. There had been no note, and Mrs Appleton, who was exceedingly fond of sweetmeats, had not bothered to enquire further about its provenance before enjoying its contents. At some point during this speech, Elizabeth had left the desk in order to better listen. When the ladies’ maid left, she said:  
  
“Well, you were right to wonder about these. They must have been dipped in arsenic—it fits the symptoms I observed.”  
  
She turned back to the desk, when Darcy caught her elbow.  
  
"Maybe we should _check_ the confections for poison?"  
  
"Why? We _know_ they are the way by which Mrs Appleton has been poisoned."  
  
"Not exactly, Elizabeth. We heavily suspect it to be the case. I suppose we could feed some of this to animals to corroborate this hypothesis, and if they turn out to be deadly, maybe we should try to find a way to identify that poison."  
  
“I told you that given her reaction, it must have been arsenic; the fact she ate a _dozen_ of them also hints at this.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Arseniate compounds are flavourless, which makes them an efficient method of poisoning.”  
  
“Still, I believe you should check. Unless there is no way to do so?”  
  
“There is. We shall skip the feeding part, though, and go directly for the identification. Will you please ask Reynolds for my chemistry case?”  
  
This box, filled with all sorts of vials, full or empty, had been one of Elizabeth’s indulgences when it came to spending her pin money. It was, of course, locked, and Elizabeth had the key on her person at all times. She had opened a window and moved a table in front of it. When the case came, she selected a vial of silver-grey powder and another filled with a transparent liquid labelled _Aqua fortis_. Darcy took it and was about to open the bottle when Elizabeth snatched it from his hands.  
  
“Do you wish to get your hands burned?” she huffed. Setting the bottle carefully on the table, she then went to retrieve an ewer of water. “Just in case. Get ready to pour if I tell you so.”  
  
Taking next a small bowl, she crushed some of the crystallised fruit in it, mixing it with water. She then poured that water into another bowl, added a pinch of grey powder, and, very carefully, a couple of drops of the liquid that had intrigued Darcy 2. The reaction was immediate.  
  
"What is that odour?” asked Darcy, wrinkling his nose.  
  
“Garlic,” answered his wife, unflappable. “Or rather, arsine. There is indeed arsenic in the confections. See? I was right. Checking has been a loss of time."  
  
“I should not say so,” objected her husband. “Now we can say we have facts, instead of mere suppositions.”  
  
A pout was all the answer Elizabeth gave him while she carefully put the _Aqua fortis_ back in its wool-lined case and locked the small trunk again.  
  
“Who would benefit from her death?”  
  
“If he was not so grief-stricken, I would say Mr Appleton.” On seeing her husband frown, Elizabeth elaborated. “He must have spent a fortune on her—you saw that she must have been forever shopping—and not for inexpensive trinkets. Next to Mrs Appleton, my mother is a picture of moderation!”  
  
Darcy was still looking at her strangely. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.  
  
“Surely, you must have realised that her dresses and jewels must have been very expensive.”  
  
“I did, but I was under the impression that Mr Appleton was not the one who paid for them.”  
  
She started. “Her father thought it to be the case. We had a conversation about this the other day.”  
  
“Whereas _I_ had a conversation with Appleton, and _he_ supposed that her father was the one spoiling her.”  
  
The spouses looked at each other, puzzled.  
  
“Where did she find the money for these, then? Could they have been gifts? Do you think she could have had a lover?” ventured Elizabeth.  
  
“It seems unlikely. She was not exactly discreet, there would have been hints of such a thing.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded and set to finish her search of the desk. In a drawer, she found a small notebook and a bundle of banknotes. The former was of particular interest to her, and before long she called to her husband.  
  
“Darcy, come see this!”  
  
As he picked up the notebook and leafed through it, she asked: “Do you think it is what I believe it is?”  
  
“If you are thinking she was secretly writing poetry to supplement her income, I am afraid I do not share your opinion.”  
  
She huffed. He smiled. “You are thinking about blackmail?”  
  
“Yes! Names, informations, and how they were obtained. Lady Cortlandt’s name is one of the last she entered … oh, and Lord Cortlandt’s is there too!”  
  
“Do you recognise any other names?”  
  
“Not at first glance; we shall have to browse it carefully. Mrs Appleton led an interesting life …”  
  
“Could you check whether—no, never mind.”  
  
Elizabeth looked inquiringly at her husband.  
  
“There is nothing.”  
  
His wife raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Very well. I wondered whether a certain someone could have been involved in that scheme—please let me continue—before ascertaining that it was unlikely.”  
  
“Will you admit at least that Mr Wickham may be an average, opportunistic rake—and not an evil mastermind?”  
  
“That is not it,” Darcy said, the tips of his ears reddening. “Had he been involved in a blackmail scheme, I _would_ have heard of it.” On seeing that his wife was still frowning, he added: “My sister.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Elizabeth opened the notebook again, looking at each page more attentively. She marked one of them and, once she was done, came back to it.  
  
“Darcy?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Can you remind me of the current Mrs Marsh’s maiden name?”  
  
He thought for a little time before answering.  
  
“I do not think I ever knew it. I knew she was not well connected, possibly not even gentry, thus her name was not considered as worthy to share. She was the nurse of the first Mrs Marsh during her illness.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded and appeared thoughtful.  
  
“What did you find?”  
  
She gave him the booklet, open at the page which sported the following entry:  
  
_L.U.—demise of M. spouse following illness that worsened once U. hired as personal nurse. Poison then laudanum? Second wedding during mourning period though no children. Question servants._  
  
“I shall ask Ridgeway. _He_ may know.”  
  
“What did he think of his brother’s second marriage?”  
  
“He did not like it,” said Darcy with a shrug. “Especially since it happened so soon after his sister died. However, there was nothing he could do against he match.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded. “And what did he think of his sister’s marriage?”  
  
Darcy paused.  
  
“I do no believe he liked it either,” he said slowly. “I remember him saying that Miss Ridgeway was too good for the likes of Marsh.” On seeing Elizabeth’s raised eyebrow, he went on. “I did not ask him to elaborate. Having a younger sister myself and being of a similar mindset where she is concerned, I assumed he was thinking about the same lines as I did.”  
  
On seeing how his wife’s attitude changed, reminding him of a cat having spotted a bird and about to slowly crawl towards its prey 3, he frowned.  
  
“Why this sudden interest for the Marshes? Nothing hints, much less proves, that they could be behind this.”  
  
“We do have an array of presumptions. They were there to act, and they _could_ fit this entry,” she said, tapping her finger on the still displayed page. “Mrs Appleton’s remark about the sudden death of a spouse, though aimed at the Cortlandts, would also fit them.”  
  
“The first Mrs Marsh’s death was not so very sudden,” Darcy objected. He could have saved his breath, for his wife had no intention of letting go of her hypothesis.  
  
**That evening, after dinner**  
  
Elizabeth’s mood had slightly dampened on learning that, before her marriage, Mrs Marsh had been a Miss Stevens, and that her given name was Jane; however, she refused to stop digging into the Marshes’ circumstances. When Darcy, as they had finished dressing for dinner, asked her the reason for her obstinacy, her answer was: “They are far too adept at redirecting attention away from them to not be guilty of something.”  
  
He had conceded the point but did not think they should exonerate the Cortlandts so soon, especially as they had found the draft for two notes, one addressed to Lady Cortlandt and one to her husband, asking for more money than the man had already given.  
  
They had decided to put the separation of sexes to use and interrogate the spouses separately. As Lord Cortlandt was by himself, Darcy easily joined him.  
  
“How well did you know Mrs Appleton?” he asked in a low voice. On seeing Lord Cortlandt’s offended exp ****ression, he added to add: “Maybe I should rather ask how well _she_ knew _you_.”  
  
With this, Darcy had garnered the man’s interest, and he thought he could see a hint of fear in his eyes.  
  
“Well? Is this where you say me that she was _not_ blackmailing you and your wife?”  
  
Lord Cortlandt blanched. “She also went after my wife?”  
  
“She did.”  
  
“Emily is innocent!”  
  
Darcy only tilted his head on the side.  
  
“She would not hurt a fly!” Cortland whispered urgently. “You must believe me! She—I—I did it! I killed Mrs Appleton.”  
  
“Lord Cortlandt,” said Darcy, rather taken aback. “I do not think—”  
  
“Then do not. I shall be in my rooms when you come with the magistrate.”  
  
With this, he raised his voice to complain about a sudden headache, nodded to his host and left the dining room. Darcy was of a mind to follow him, but on seeing he went up the stairs and not into the drawing room where his wife was, decided to leave him be.  
  
When they entered the drawing room, a look at a visibly frustrated Elizabeth was all he needed to realise that she did not have a tête-à-tête with Lady Cortlandt. Her husband’s absence gave them a perfect opportunity to engineer one.  
  
“Ah, Lady Cortlandt. I believe your husband will wish to see you. May I accompany you?”  
  
A crease appeared on the lady’s forehead, and she nodded. When she rose, Elizabeth did likewise.  
  
“I feel myself rather tired. Will you mind if I retire?”  
  
“Not at all, Mrs Darcy,” said Mrs Ridgeway. “We have had tiring days.”  
  
The two ladies and the gentleman stepped into the hall, after which Darcy directed them to the library. A glance allowed Lady Cortlandt to see that it was empty.  
  
“Where is my husband?”  
  
“He is in his rooms, we shall join him shortly,” Darcy said.  
  
"We shall be frank, Lady Cortlandt,” said Elizabeth. “We are aware that Mrs Appleton knew something about you and made you pay her to keep quiet."  
  
Lady Cortlandt did not even try to contradict them. Her shoulders slumped.  
  
"I knew Mrs Appleton from the time I was married to Mr Johnson. She was still Miss Hargrave then, and visited my shop often enough. It was she who discovered my husband’s death just after he fell from that ladder—only, I did not know that at first, for she had run to get some help, and by the time she came back, I had modified some things in the room.”  
  
“Why would you do such a thing if it was an accident?” Darcy asked with a frown. “Did things look as if there has been a set-up, and you wished to avoid speculation?”  
  
“Not at all,” Lady Cortlandt replied. “It clearly looked like an accident. I placed the ladder upright again, added a block of stone on which I put some of Johnson’s blood, and a length of fabric. It was not enough, though. The magistrate thought it would have been too complicated a scheme for a suicide and merely deplored my husband’s imprudence in storing such a heavy object so precariously.”  
  
“You wished for people to think your husband killed himself?” Elizabeth said, voicing her and Darcy’s puzzlement.  
  
“Yes. He was a bad man. A very bad man. He did not deserve to rest in peace. I wished to deny him a proper burial, but I failed in my endeavour. Of course, Mrs Appleton noticed the changes,” she continued with a shrug. “She once made a remark that made me uneasy, but then she married, and then _I_ remarried. I was very distressed that Lord Cortlandt brought me to a place where I would have to mingle with her. Such a stroke of bad luck! At first, I hoped she did not recognise me. However, her little joke about conveniently dead husbands made me suspect otherwise—she looked at me too pointedly for it to be a coincidence. She confirmed it afterwards when she began asking me for money."  
  
"What did you do then?"  
  
"What could I have done? I paid, of course. Otherwise the scandal would have hurt Lord Cortlandt."  
  
"Then?"  
  
"She died,” Lady Cortlandt said.  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth looked at her.  
  
"I did not do it!" she exclaimed. "I shall not say that I was not relieved by her death, and if she had continued to ask for money I do not know how I would have fared, but I promise I did not kill her."  
  
"We already know this."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Your husband confessed all."  
  
"No! Why? He knows nothing about it! Why would he have done such a thing?"  
  
"She came to him with the same threats she came to you."  
  
"Oh." Mrs Cortland blinked.  
  
"Mrs Darcy?"  
  
On hearing her husband, Elizabeth turned towards him.  
  
"Maybe it is one of the others?" On seeing Elizabeth's frown, he added: "I know the Cortlandts seem to be the only ones around, but she had many names in her booklet, and some of them may not be afraid of killing."  
  
“You could be right,” said Elizabeth toughtfuly. “After all, they were only recent victims There may have been someone more desperate.”  
  
“There _are_ other victims.” Two pairs of eyes focused on Lady Cortlandt. “Well, there were, at least. I was afraid that, when she realised I could not give her more, and this would have happened soon, she would apply herself to ruin us, as she has done to others before.”  
  
“Has she?” asked Elizabeth.  
  
“Do you remember that scandal about Miss Barrett last year?”  
  
Darcy nodded. Elizabeth leafed through Mrs Appleton’s booklet and stopped at one page, her eyebrows raised.  
  
“ _She_ was behind this,” Lady Cortlandt went on. “Of course, when it happened, I had no idea about her blackmail scheme, I only know that her gossips were what led the poor girl to be shunned.”  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a glance.  
  
“Will you think less of me if I tell you that the world is perhaps better without Mrs Appleton in it?” she asked.  
  
“This is not a reason to let her murder go unpunished,” he answered.  
  
They escorted Lady Cortlandt to her husband’s rooms and gained theirs.  
  
“Should you not have told Lord Cortlandt that you did not believe his confession?”  
  
“He shall know it soon enough.”  
  
He had not finished speaking when the door opened, and a very upset Lord Cortlandt came in.  
  
“What did you do to my wife?”  
  
“We only asked her a couple of questions,” Darcy answered calmy.  
  
“You had no right!”  
  
“She risks nothing.”  
  
“You—I beg your pardon?”  
  
“I do not believe either of you killed Mrs Appleton.”  
  
He relaxed somewhat, but some tension remained.  
  
“Neither did she kill Mr Johnson.”  
  
At this, Lord Cortlandt started.  
  
“How—”  
  
“Did you never speak of that event with your wife?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“You should.”  
  
Lord Cortlandt left without a word.  
  
“Now, what shall we do?”  
  
Elizabeth grabbed the papers she had removed from Mrs Appleton’s room. “Search more.”  
  
**Sunday afternoon**  
  
Elizabeth had been perusing the documents found in Mrs Appleton’s desk and had now put them on the side. Seeing that she was done with her task, Darcy asked:  
  
“Did you learn anything about Mrs Appleton’s other victims?”  
  
“Most of them are former classmates whose letters she pilfered and held over them. It is highly unlikely that any of them is involved in her death. Oh, if only Mrs Marsh’s initials fitted that entry!”  
  
“Maybe we did it the wrong way, Elizabeth.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
“Rather than looking through Mrs Appleton’s journal and see what entries fit the guests, how about looking into the past of the people present here and see whether they fit one entry?”  
  
“Including the servants?”  
  
“Yes, if it is possible. Maybe one of them is devoted to one of her victims and has changed positions only to better approach her.”  
  
“Very well. We know about the Cortlandts already, let us look into the other’s lives.”  
  
Darcy nodded and sat to write to his man of business.  
  
**Tuesday 30 June, Sunningdale**  
  
“Your man’s efficiency is admirable,” remarked Elizabeth.  
  
In one neat stack was all that Mr Davenport had sent them. She was impressed that he had managed to gather so much information in barely one day. They knew more about the Cortlandts than what appeared in the report, and nothing much was found regarding the Ridgeways or the  Scotts: a couple of indiscretions, but nothing that might warrant such a strong reaction as murder, and none of the associated names matched any entry in Mrs Appleton’s notebook. There was even less unpalatable information related to her husband and father, but they had not expected that there would be, for after all, it was unlikely that Mrs Appleton would blackmail her family.  
  
“Anything of interest?”  
  
“Yes. Still the Marshes. I can still not find a correspondence with the notebook, so either it was written in code or it is yet another case … but there _is_ something troubling regarding Mrs Marsh’s death.”  
  
“How did Davenport learn so much, so quickly?”  
  
“Would you believe that he married the lady’s abigail?”  
  
Darcy only stared at his wife.  
  
“She was dismissed once her employer died—though perhaps she would not have liked to see her mistress be replaced in any case. Mr Marsh gave her a good sum of money to thank her for her services, and she thought to invest it; this is how she met your Mr Davenport.”  
  
“This is extraordinary.”  
  
“Anyway, she described the malady of Adele Marsh, and I think it fits arsenic poisoning.”  
  
“I thought she had been sick for a long time?”  
  
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I meant chronic poisoning; she could have ingested small doses day after day, and nothing more than headaches or skin colouration could have been seen. Her maid could notice this—and did, though she did not know the significance of this detail.”  
  
“Marsh would have hired a nurse for his wife’s _headaches_?”  
  
“Maybe it was not his main goal. The current Mrs Marsh is rather pretty, and given the situation, he would have been involved in the hiring process.”  
  
Darcy scowled. “This is a serious accusation, Elizabeth.”  
  
“Which one? Accusing him of murder, or of ungentlemanly behaviour?” she said with a smile that he could not help but return.  
  
“Your hypothesis is sound,” he said at last. “However, this is only conjecture.”  
  
“We could unearth the first Mrs Marsh’s remains in order to conduct some tests,” Elizabeth suggested.  
  
“I doubt this will meet with her family’s approval,” Darcy countered. “Marsh would object if he is guilty, and Ridgeway would not like this either. Have you no other idea?”  
  
Elizabeth shook her head, and he sighed.  
  
“You are confident about your theory?”  
  
“Of course!”  
  
“Will you accompany me for a tour in the graveyard, then?”  
  
**A couple of hours later, the drawing-room**  
  
When the Darcys stepped in the drawing-room where everyone was gathered before dinner, all eyes turned towards them.  
  
“Good God, what is the matter?” Mr Ridgeway said, conveying the sentiments of everyone present. “You are both literally covered in mud!”  
  
This was only a slight exaggeration. The grass had, by and large, cleaned their shoes, and only some spots of dirt remained on their knees, sleeves, and gloves.  
  
“We went to pay our respects to the first Mrs Marsh in the graveyard,” Elizabeth says breezily. “Would you believe that one can find arsenic in a body years after a person died?”  
  
While she spoke, both she and Darcy had their eyes on the Marshes. She was frowning, but _he_ appeared definitely ill at ease.  
  
“Have you something to add, Marsh?” Darcy asked coldly.  
  
“Why should I?” he stammered.  
  
“What is this all about?” interjected Mr Ridgeway.  
  
“I am afraid your sister’s death was not natural, Ridgeway. Marsh thought Mrs Appleton had uncovered him, and killed her as well.”  
  
The assembled ladies and gentlemen gasped. Mrs Marsh paled, salts were provided. Sir James and Mr Appleton paled.  
  
Mr Marsh was sweating. His mien was confession enough, and he soon spoke.  
  
“What else could I do? Everything had gone without a hitch, and then she threatened to ruin it all!”  
  
“How so?” Elizabeth asked.  
  
“She made a remark a couple of days  ago about the convenience of a spouse’s death. I could not let her ruin me. I had a box of sweets, it was easy to add powder on it, enough for a couple of pieces to make her die.”  
  
“How would you know this?”  
  
“You said it yourself: this is how Adele died. At first I gave her only enough to make her sick, of course, but after a while, I had to give her more. I did not get it right from the first try.”  
  
“Now that we have established without a doubt that you killed both Mrs Appleton and the first Mrs Marsh, now would you indulge us and explain to us how you came to this?”  
  
“I tired of Adele soon enough, but the silly creature would not hear of my having liaisons. Well, not unless _she_ could do the same, when she had not given me an heir yet! Hypocrisy, she called it! We had several rows about this, and when she became sick, I thought that it would be a good thing to keep her so in order to be freed from her recriminations. I gave her a little arsenic everyday: not enough to kill her outright, but enough to keep her focused on her health rather than of my comings and goings. She was the one who hired Jane to care after her, and she took my fancy.”  
  
“So you killed your wife in order to marry her nurse.”  
  
“Of course not! Well,” he added on seeing their incredulous glances, “not at first. Had Jane not been so straight-laced and given in to my advances, Adele would not have needed to die. However, Jane was so prim and proper that I had to marry her if I wanted her in my bed. There you are.” He shrugged. “It’s not as if I married Adele for anything other than money and connections, and I kept those, after all.”  
  
Whether Mr Marsh should consider himself lucky or unlucky that looks could not kill was uncertain.  
  
**Wednesday 1 July**  
  
Marsh had been promptly seized and locked in the cellar after his confession; he would be tried and likely hung. Mrs Marsh had departed—fled would be a more accurate description—and Mr Appleton and Sir James had gone also; Mrs Appleton would be buried on Friday at her husband’s estate.  
  
Darcy and Elizabeth were enjoying the calm (and the books) of the library when Mr Ridgeway entered. He did not appear happy.  
  
“I did not say anything yesterday, for there were more serious things that occupied our thoughts, but what were you thinking? How did you dare?”  
  
“I am sorry, Mr Ridgeway, but what are you speaking about?” said Elizabeth, tearing her eyes from a treaty about the local flora.  
  
“I am talking about grave desecration!” he hissed.  
  
“Oh. You can rest easy, then. Nothing of the kind happened.” She went back to her book while an unsettled Mr Ridgeway looked at Darcy.  
  
“I had convinced Elizabeth that we had to find another way of proving Marsh’s culpability, and eventually we settled on subterfuge,” he explained. “She did not find this very elegant, but it served its purpose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. when the Earldom was created, the people in charge did not agree on a name, and left this as a place-holder in the document, and forgot to replace it. That, or the author was too lazy to make up a name herself. :)
> 
> 2\. I have no idea whether this is the Proper Way to realise this test. I just made this up using the following paragraph from Wikipedia:
> 
> The first breakthrough in the detection of arsenic poisoning was in 1775 when Carl Wilhelm Scheele discovered a way to change arsenic trioxide to garlic-smelling arsine gas (AsH3), by treating it with nitric acid (HNO3) and combining it with zinc.
> 
> As2O3 + 6 Zn + 12 HNO3 → 2 AsH3 + 6 Zn(NO3)2 + 3 H2O
> 
> 3\. I would have compared her to a lioness, but it is doubtful Darcy would ever have seen a lioness in her natural habitat. No National Geographic Channel yet!


	12. Case 10 - The Conservatory Corpse and Other Casualties

**Case 10: the Conservatory Corpse and Other Casualties**

  
  
**September 1812**  
  
The Darcys had spent a peaceful summer, marred only by the news that Mr Marsh had escaped and was, according to Mr Davenport, on his way to America. The couple were now on their way to Warwickshire, where Darcy had been invited to a hunting party by a friend from his club, Alfred Eversleigh. The party in itself was of minor interest to Elizabeth, but she had been assured that Alden Hall boasted a well-maintained orangery. It would entertain her to see it, as it would, no doubt, entertain Darcy to see his wife’s enthusiasm on discovering it.  
  
As for the rest of the party, they would be joined by acquaintances and relatives of Darcy whom Elizabeth had not met yet—at least not officially, for a couple of men who had been present when Sir Eugene Ware-Lampshade had been killed were to join them. The Ridgeways, though invited, had to decline the invitation, as did the Scotts.  
  
**Tuesday 16 September, an estate in Warwickshire**  
  
The Darcy were amongst the first to arrive, which suited Elizabeth very well. While she went to discover the orangery, Darcy was held back by Mr Crossfield-Jones, whose company he would rather have avoided and who had the most pressing need to speak to him about the game that could be found at Alden Hall.  
  
When he was free at last, he made his way towards the conservatory. It was a handsome stone building with large glass windows; Darcy thought that some of the roof on one extremity was also made of glass panels. He entered the building and found Elizabeth, alone, observing some kind of lime plant.  
  
“Has the head gardener already gone?”  
  
“Yes,” she said, straightening. “He was called away some time ago; he told me he would come back.”  
  
“This is strange,” Darcy said with a frown. “I should not have imagined him to trust anyone alone near his precious plants. Eversleigh says his gardener is very particular about this.”  
  
Elizabeth shrugged. “Maybe he was reassured by my knowledge, or I just appeared trustworthy enough for him.”  
  
“Did he tell you all that you wished to know?”  
  
“Mostly, yes. I had additional questions, but nothing that cannot wait. They tried to acclimate some _Buginvillæa_ 1 and I think I saw some Ricinus—the gardener was called away before I could enquire further; I must own the pineapple bushes intrigue me the most, and I should like to grow them at Pemberley should our orangery allow for such an endeavour.”  
  
“I am sure Mrs Reynolds would make everything in her power to make it happen if it guarantees we shall stay longer,” he said with a smile. Elizabeth scowled.  
  
“Now this is an unbecoming exp ****ression! If I promise to stop laughing at you, will you show me these pineapple bushes? I believe I saw a fruit at a dinner, but I am curious about its origins.”  
  
A mollified Elizabeth led her husband into a room which was separated from the main one by a set of glass-panelled doors. That part felt warmer than the rest; Elizabeth pointed to the glazed ceilings and to a brazier in the middle of the room.  
  
“It is not currently alight, but it will be when the weather turns colder. The plants in here normally grow in the tropics, and though they may survive in a normal hothouse, they need a warmer temperature to bear fruit.”  
  
Darcy nodded and let Elizabeth guide him to a patch of oversized, hard-looking grass about three feet tall, in front of which she stopped.  
  
“Behold, the pineapple bushes!” she said with a flourish.  
  
The gentleman looked from the top of the spiky crowns to the bottom of the plants. He started.  
  
“This is eerily familiar.”  
  
“What—oh!” Elizabeth had followed Darcy’s gaze and was now staring at a pair of sturdy shoes. “Indeed.”  
  
“I shall call for the head gardener.”  
  
“You had better fetch our host.”  
  
“For an under gardener?”  
  
“His shoes are ill-fitting.”  
  
“He may not have been able to afford more.”  
  
“Yet he wears silk stocking”—Darcy gaped while his wife leaned forward to peek between the thick green leaves—“quality breeches, a fine woolen coat, an embroidered waistcoat, and a cravat he probably did not tie himself. Also, he appears to be unconscious.”  
  
Darcy took a closer look. The elaborate and immaculate knot could only belong on a gentleman’s neck. He swore.  
  
“Language, dear,” said Elizabeth distractedly while endeavouring to have a better look at the man’s head. Shortly afterwards, she added: “I am afraid that gentleman will not be able to tell us anything about the reasons of his presence here.”  
  
“You cannot wake him up?”  
  
Elizabeth threw an exasperated glance at him.  
  
“ _You_ would find it difficult to do anything, sir, if you had received such a blow to the head as he appears to have received.”  
  
“Still—”  
  
“He is dead.”  
  
Darcy gaped at his wife, before he recovered and barked:  
  
“Stay here, I shall fetch some help at the house. Just sit on that bench over here: it is close enough to the bushes to prevent anyone from approaching without being seen, yet far enough that a casual onlooker might not suspect that you saw the body.” On seeing her frown, he added: “I should prefer it if you stayed safe until I come back with reinforcements.”  
  
She nodded and, as soon as he was out of sight, returned to her inspection of the body. The cause of the death appeared to be a blow on the head with an object heavy enough to crush his skull. She began to look around in order to determine what weapon could have caused such a wound.  
  
**Meanwhile, at the manor**  
  
Darcy found the house filled with effervescence, for most of the awaited guests had arrived. Mr Allenby and Mr Fitzhugh (the former with his wife, the latter with an experimental double-barrelled rifle) had travelled together and  gone upstairs to refresh themselves, and Mr Lanscombe had arrived earlier. The party would be complete on the arrival of Darcy’s relatives—his cousin Victor (the eldest son of his uncle ——) and his wife—who were expected the following day.  
  
“Ah, Darcy!” said Eversleigh on seeing him. “Did you leave Lanscombe in company with your lovely wife?”  
  
“It may well be,” said Darcy slowly.  
  
“Did you not see him? He was looking forward to greeting you and meeting Mrs Darcy, thus I directed him towards the orangery.”  
  
“We may have come across him, which is why Mrs Darcy stayed, and I came to fetch you and some footmen.”  
  
Eversleigh frowned. “Did he insult you or Mrs Darcy in some fashion? But then you would not have left her with him...”  
  
“He said nothing. I did not look at this face, but if he is who I saw, I am afraid he shall not address anyone anymore again.”  
  
“What can you mean?”  
  
“There is a gentleman’s corpse in your conservatory.”  
  
“ _What_?”  
  
“Amongst the pineapples.”  
  
“Since you did not recognise Lanscombe, it could very well be a napping servant.”  
  
“I did not have a clear look at his face, but save for the shoes, he is dressed as a gentleman and very much dead.”  
  
“Heavens! How could such a thing happen? Mayhap he had a stroke?”  
  
“Given the manner in which he was concealed amongst the plants, we suspect foul play.”  
  
“ _We_ —you left Mrs Darcy there, quite alone?” said an aghast Eversleigh.  
  
“Mrs Darcy is not helpless and knows how to keep herself safe.”  
  
As he was telling this, Eversleigh had begun to give orders, and shortly afterwards three gentlemen made their way to the conservatory, followed by a couple of servants amongst whom was Weston. The additional gentleman was Mr Fitzhugh, who had refreshed himself faster than the Allenbys and came down as the group was leaving; wondering what the disturbance was about, he had decided to accompany them.  
  
When the men entered the building, they found that Elizabeth had not stayed idle. She was currently crouched amongst the pineapple, near the gentleman’s head.  
  
“Elizabeth!” Darcy scolded as soon as he saw her. “I distinctly remember asking you to sit on that bench!”  
  
“So you did,” she answered with a shrug. He came near to her, and she whispered for him only: “I had to take a closer look at that wound. Blood was still seeping from it when I applied some pressure, and though it does not mean much, his head was still warm to the touch. I do not think it has been more than one hour since he died.”  
  
She rose and walked back to the bench, followed by Darcy, as Eversleigh came forward and confirmed the identity of the victim, then gave orders to take him back to the house.  Darcy looked sharply at Elizabeth who gave him a reassuring smile.  
  
“I have seen everything I needed.”  
  
Fitzhugh had joined them by then, and they were interrupted by the necessary introductions.  
  
“The Allenbys and I arrived on Lanscombe’s tail, about a half hour ago.”  
  
“Did you greet him?”  
  
“I did, and I saw him walking towards this building while I was changing.”  
  
“This narrows the possibilities,” mused Elizabeth. “We shall have to enquire about everyone’s occupation in the last half hour, knowing that the first quarter of hour is the relevant one. Now, gentlemen, what can you tell me about this bench?”  
  
Fitzhugh looked at it blankly, while Darcy’s gaze sharpened.  
  
“There, on that edge. It looks like blood.”  
  
Elizabeth nodded. “Gentlemen, this bench was most probably the instrument of Mr Lanscombe’s demise. You will also notice that the tiles here have been cleaned more recently than elsewhere.”  
  
Darcy nodded. Fitzhugh appeared puzzled.  
  
“Why would he have gone under the pineapple bushes after falling and hurting himself?”  
  
“He did not go there by himself.”  
  
“That makes no sense! He was not so well hidden and would have been—was!—easily discovered!”  
  
“Not necessarily. The shoes are not those of a gentleman, and they were the only items that were visible. One may have mistaken him for an under gardener taking a rest. It was only happenstance that I came back here with Mr Darcy, and whoever hid the body may have thought he would have had enough time to move it away later.”  
  
“I admire your calm, Mrs Darcy,” said Fitzhugh. “Most females would be close to fainting as this point. Why, we had to deal with an unpleasant incident earlier this year at Boodle’s—dreadful business!—and it is a good thing there were no ladies around.”  
  
Elizabeth chose not to answer while her husband smiled.  
  
“What do you suggest we do next?”  
  
“Has he any family who ought to be told of his demise?”  
  
“I meant beyond the obvious, Mrs Darcy.”  
  
“He had just arrived and found himself in the hothouse only because he had been told _we_ would be there. My first thought is that his death was not planned. He may have stumbled on something he was not meant to witness.”  
  
“Or simply stumbled. We need to speak for the head gardener at once. This is his domain, he must know what happens here.”  
  
“What if he is part of whatever took place?”  
  
“All the more reason to question him.”  
  
After ascertaining that the man was not in the vicinity, the couple went back to the house along with Fitzhugh and their host. A footman had been dispatched to the head gardener’s lodgings and joined them as they entered the house. He could only tell them that the man was absent.  
  
They entered the drawing room where they found the Allenbys with their hostess, Mr Eversleigh’s mother. After introductions were made, the news of Mr Lanscombe’s demise were shared—Eversleigh described it as a _tragic accident_ out of a wish to avoid upsetting the sensibilities of the ladies. It was still too much to bear for Mrs Eversleigh, and she retreated to her rooms. Happy to not be the only lady present, Mrs Allenby attached herself to Elizabeth.  
  
On seeing that his wife was occupied, Darcy, taking advantage of the butler’s presence, enquired as to the missing servant’s local acquaintances and was rewarded with the intelligence that the local cobbler was the man’s brother in law.  
  
It was now too late for a visit to the village, thus Darcy planned to go as soon as it were possible on the morrow. Not knowing what would be found there, he decided to go alone; he would tell Elizabeth about this visit once he was back.  
  
**Wednesday morning**  
  
Elizabeth had also risen early, making it impossible for Darcy to escape as he had wished. On learning that their host was also about and had requested breakfast to be served, they decided to join him. Mr Eversleigh could not keep them company for long, as he had to arrange for the removal of Mr Lanscombe's body, and since the Allenbys and Mr Fitzhugh were not known to be early risers, the Darcys ate their breakfast alone in speculative silence. They were finishing with their meal when a carriage was heard, and soon afterwards three of Darcy's relatives entered the room.  
  
"Nephew, Lizzy! It seems like an eternity since I last met with you. I only wish I could say it had been in more pleasant circumstances. When Vic told me you were to be at Alden Hall, I had to join them; our host kindly extended his invitation to me. Allow me to introduce my son and daughter to you. Victor Fitzwilliam, Viscount Dakin, my eldest son, and his delightful spouse Ethelbertina.”  
  
"Victor the Viscount?" whispered Elizabeth to Darcy as, once they had all properly greeted each other, their relations helped themselves on the side table.  
  
"Cousin Vic," he whispered back with a nod.  
  
"We left the children home," said the Viscountess, taking place beside Elizabeth. "John and Mary are too young to be agreeable travel companions yet."  
  
"Too young, ha!" huffed the Earl. "You do not want them to grow up. Mark my words, you will not allow them to come out in society before they are twenty-five!"  
  
While he was speaking, Elizabeth threw a glance to her husband, who easily took her meaning and whispered, as soon as he could do so without being noticed: "Uncle Earl did not get to name the children. He still complains about my cousins’ choices from time to time."  
  
"Tell me, Elizabeth," said the Viscountess, reclaiming her attention, "do your sisters have children?"  
  
"No; I was the first to marry."  
  
"None of them are married?"  
  
"My elder sister, Jane, married Mr Bingley in early June."  
  
"Oh, this is delightful! Your children will be of an age. Is she settled close to Pemberley?"  
  
"Alas no."  
  
"Oh, this is too bad. But, wait—Mr Bingley is that friend of Darcy's whose sister died last year, was he not?"  
  
"Society did not mourn her for long," interjected the Viscount.  
  
Lady Dakin threw a glare at her husband and went on: "I believe he was only leasing the place; surely he will not want to stay there after his sister's tragedy. You _must_ persuade them to settle near Pemberley."  
  
"It would be a disservice to make them," objected Elizabeth. "They are both fond of Town, and I do not think we shall be often at Pemberley."  
  
"This will change once you have little ones to enlighten its halls," said the Viscountess with a knowing glance. "Who is your modiste? I do not recognise Madame Pommier's work."  
  
"You would not. Some of my gowns come, of course, from her, but this one has been made by my aunt's seamstress."  
  
They were halfway through a discussion about fashions when Elizabeth noticed her husband had disappeared.  
  
On seeing that Elizabeth was monopolised by his family, Darcy had made his excuses and left. Once in the hall, he called for his carriage to be readied.  
  
While it was done, he called for Weston.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"We are going to the village, and I shall need your help," Darcy began. "I want to have a discussion with the missing head gardener's brother-in-law."  
  
"The local cobbler, sir?"  
  
"Precisely. Will you help me to make sure that he does not go away on seeing me arrive?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Once they arrived to the town, they easily found the cobbler's house. Darcy sent Weston ahead of him in case there was some trouble awaiting, but soon, a shout from the footman apprised him that it was safe to come in. He did and found himself facing a disgruntled craftsman.  
  
“Were you leaving?”  
  
“You cannot think I’d stay after what happened this morning! What if they were after me now?”  
  
“And who would _they_ be?”  
  
“I certainly do not know,” said the man defiantly.  
  
“Where is your brother?”  
  
The cobbler said not a word and eventually asked Darcy to leave. A frustrated gentleman made his way back to his friend’s house after having instructed Weston to gather as much information as he could in the village. At Alden Hall, Elizabeth awaited her husband. As soon as it was polite to do so, she absconded with him to their rooms. She then rang for Reynolds, and once her abigail was here, asked for her bonnet and coat to be brought.  
  
“What are you about Elizabeth?”  
  
“I shall pay that cobbler a visit.”  
  
“I just left him, and he would not speak!”  
  
“He _must_ speak, and I need a new pair of walking shoes,” said Elizabeth when they were alone.  
  
“No, Elizabeth.”  
  
“I assure you, I do!”  
  
“I told you that I have already visited the cobbler!”  
  
“I resent the fact that you left without me!”  
  
“You could not have gone before we had ascertained whether it is safe for you to do so.”  
  
“And how were _we_ to do so if I you did not even speak to me about it?”  
  
“I went.”  
  
“How, pray, is that any better than I myself going?”  
  
“I would have send word for you to come if I had found anything,” he deflected.  
  
“You could have driven to the market town with me and left me to wait at the milliner’s. There must be one there!”  
  
Darcy knew better than to object but scowled as he followed his wife down the stairs. “Is there no dissuading you?”  
  
”I am afraid not,” she said as she gained the door. “You may, however, accompany me.”  
  
Reynolds was there with her outer wear, which she donned, and she went outside where, with the help of a footman, she entered the carriage. Darcy was left to take his hat and gloves from the butler who had planned for such an eventuality and hurried after after his wife, joining her just as the carriage was about to depart.  
  
“I do not think this visit will allow us to discover anything new,” he said once he was seated.  
  
“Maybe not, but I should like to avoid a flight. If he has gone, I shall be disappointed. If he is still here, I intend to ask Weston to stay and watch his moves, follow him if needed. He may not have _told_ you where his brother in law was, and perhaps he indeed is ignorant of this, but if he _is_ helping him and does not tell us—”  
  
“We shall learn it by following his moves,” said Darcy, chagrined at the tought that such a thing had not occurred to himself.  
  
It appeared that Elizabeth’s haste had been necessary. Though it was already late in the morning, the shop was closed when they arrived. Noise inside of the building hinted at the presence of the cobbler.  
  
“Him, or an intruder,” said Darcy, preventing Elizabeth from entering. “Stay here and watch the door. I shall go back to the inn and fetch Weston, and once we are certain there is no risk, we shall go inside together.”  
  
“It would be better if I went alone,” objected Elizabeth. “The man already knows you and will be wary of your intentions.”  
  
“We shall discuss our strategy when I am back,” Darcy said, and then he was gone.  
  
When he returned with Weston, Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Darcy swore.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“I fear Mrs Darcy thought any caution to be superfluous and went ahead with her plan. Stay in front of the shop, I shall have a look at the back.”  
  
“Do you not want me to lend you assistance?”  
  
“When I whistle, come in. If I am not back in ten minutes, come back with more help.”  
  
“Understood, sir.”  
  
Darcy took a look through the front window. The shop was empty. He walked around the building and took a glance through the back window. He did not like to be proven correct: Elizabeth had run into trouble. She was currently tied to a chair and being threatened by an unknown man in the back room of the shop. He had seen no hint of the cobbler’s presence, but he had been arguably distracted by Elizabeth’s predicament. Going to the back door, he carefully tried its handle. The door opened noiselessly. The man was interrogating Elizabeth about the reasons for her presence, which allowed her husband to slip quietly into the room, unnoticed.  
  
He was debating whether to announce his presence and provoke the man in a fair fight, or to subdue him quickly, though in an ungentlemanly manner, when he stepped on a creaky board. The noise made the man turn around and grab a nearby poker. Discretion being, at that stage, superfluous, Darcy spoke breezily.  
  
“I should warn you that assault is frowned upon. Especially when the victim is a woman.”  
  
“So what?” the man answered with a sneer.  
  
“So, this is very wicked,” said Darcy disapprovingly. “I moreover object to my wife being the target of such misbehaviour.”  
  
A shrug from his opponent showed that guilt was not anywhere near suffocating him. Darcy took a step back, the miscreant two in his direction. The ruffian aimed his poker only to hit the wall as Darcy had ducked as the last moment. He took advantage of his adversary’s momentarily lack of balance to throw himself at him. The man’s head hit the wall and he crumbled on the floor. Not wanting to take any chance, Darcy seized a handful of laces and tied his hands and foot; only once the man was secured did he check for his pulse.  
  
“He lives,” he said, raising on his feet before untying his shaken wife. The gentleman was grave and silent, and very pale himself. Once she was free he took hold of her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes.  
  
"Never, _ever_ frighten me like this again."  
  
“I promise I will now heed your requests to wait on the side,” she said in a small voice. He released her.  
  
“There, you are safe. It is all in the past now.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
“Was the cobbler already gone when you came, then?”  
  
She laughed nervously while shaking her head.  
  
“Did he not say anything? Or act in any way?”  
  
“He did not,” she whispered.  
  
“This is strange.”  
  
“Not really. His throat was slit when I came in.”  
  
“Pardon me?”  
  
“He is behind his counter. This is how the other got me: I was distracted and had gone to inspect the body, and he knocked me out. I came to my senses in that chair.”  
  
Darcy had paled while she spoke and, having spotted a bottle helped himself to a glass. He drowned it and, considering that Elizabeth was paler than was her wont, filled the glass again and gave it to her.  
  
“Who do you think he is?” she said in a still trembling voice between sips.  
  
“I am not sure. His clothes have no particularity, his accent was commonly vulgar. I would say he is some hired hand. I shall ask him when he wakes up.”  
  
“Perhaps we should talk to the magistrate. Has he been apprised of what happened at Alden Hall?”  
  
“I am not sure. Do you believe we ought to inform him?”  
  
“After this additional death? I am afraid we must. He may also have some information about my assailant.”  
  
Darcy at last remembered to signal for Weston to approach; the man came promptly. Once the footman was given the task to come back with the magistrate as soon as he could, he came back to Elizabeth, who was already looking through the victim’s personal effects. Darcy followed her lead. A spot of white caught his attention, and he soon fished a piece of paper from the fireplace.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“A demand for an appointment tomorrow, at a certain place and hour. It is from our missing head gardener.”  
  
“Shall we go?”  
  
“Only if it is safe enough and you promise to be prudent. Otherwise I shall lock you into your room and forbid Reynolds to let you out by yourself.”  
  
She was still too shaken to do anything but give him her word and a weak smile. Darcy had folded the paper and put it in his coat pocket when the door opened, and Weston entered, followed by a man of gentleman-like appearance.  
  
“Mr and Mrs Darcy, I presume?”  
  
“Yes,” said Darcy. “I presume you are the magistrate for the area Mr…?”  
  
“Conway. My estate is on the other side of the town from Mr Eversleigh’s—I understand he is your host? What happened?” he asked amiably. “Not that many things happen in our quiet neighbourhood, I am usually called for petty thievery or drunken fights.”  
  
“This man over here threatened to harm my wife.”  
  
“And you thought it fitting to knock him senseless and tie him up?” Mr Conway chuckled.  
  
“He killed the shopkeeper first. I did not want to take any chances.”  
  
Though the sentences were exact, they gave an incorrect impression of the situation. However, Darcy did not wish to correct it, especially since it apparently silenced Mr Conway. At last, the magistrate found his words again.  
  
“Heavens! What happened?”  
  
Something in Conway's attitude put Darcy ill at ease, and he decided to conceal the extent of his suspicions as well, as a result, as their original reason for being there.  
  
“My wife had gone to the cobbler’s to get fitted for boots. I found she took more time for her errand than she usually did, thus I decided to go to the shop myself. On arriving, I found her tied up and in danger of being beaten by a reprobate. I intervened before she could be seriously harmed, but he lost consciousness in the resulting shuffle.” he added with a frown. “I should have liked to ask him a couple of questions.”  
  
“Oh, he would not have told you anything than that he was looking for money,” said Mr Conway who, after having looked at the cobbler, had at last glanced at his attacker’s face. “I recognise him. A bad one, this one. Half the village would like to see him hung, and there is none whom he has not stolen from. We were hoping to catch him for a couple of weeks, but he always gave us the slip. It is a tragedy that a good, honest tradesman lost his life before he could be caught; I must thank you on behalf of the population for having put an end to his misdeeds. That you did it in defence of Mrs Darcy is bound to provoke a few sighs from the women,” he added with a wink.  
  
“I should nonetheless like to question him,” Darcy insisted.  
  
“I shall call for you when he comes back to his senses.”  
  
There was no mistaking that dismissal. On their way back to the estate, the Darcys were mostly silent.  
  
“Do you believe,” Elizabeth eventually asked, “that this will be the end of it?”  
  
“I am afraid that, until we meet with the head gardener, it is not.”  
  
“Why did you not tell him about what happened at Alden Hall?”  
  
“He refused to let me speak with that miscreant. Since he was unwilling to let me know things, I felt no compunction to do the same to him.”  
  
**Thursday 18 September**  
  
Darcy could not say he was happy to have Elizabeth accompany him to the gaol, but Elizabeth had insisted that she wanted—no, _needed_ —to be present when he confronted Daniels— the magistrate had at last supplied Darcy with a name.  
  
He was even less happy when, on arriving, he was told that the man was dead.  
  
"You told me a great number of people would resent him: why on earth did you not lock him alone?"  
  
"There was a fight at the inn and we had to round up a great deal of people before determining how it originated. The drunkard was not from here, and in any case Mr Conway thought he would have imbibed too much to be of any harm."  
  
"Mr Conway thought," repeated a frustrated Darcy.  
  
"Did you find out who provoked the fight?"  
  
"That precise drunkard, as it happened."  
  
"Does he have a name?"  
  
"We did not manage to find it before he was killed. He tried to escape in the confusion, you see. Ran straight towards Mr Conway, he did. I reckon he thought a gentleman would put less of a fight and he may manage to push him aside to escape the noose? Except Mr Conway was ready, and the man met with a bullet. No great loss, if you want my opinion."  
  
"How convenient," said Elizabeth once they were back in the street. "I like this Mr Conway's actions less and less."  
  
"So do I," said Darcy. "I am glad we did not share with him everything we knew, especially about our missing man's possible whereabouts."  
  
"Shall we follow that lead and endeavour to find him?"  
  
"I thought you would never ask!"  
  
The meeting point was not very far, and the man was there, as he had written he would be. He saw them from afar and thought to retreat, but the Darcys had anticipated such a move, and their driver, Weston, as well as Smith were there to prevent his flight.  
  
"Who are you and where is Joe?" he asked when Darcy was in front of him.  
  
"If by Joe you mean your brother-in-law the cobbler, I am afraid he is dead."  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"He was killed by a man named Daniels,” interjected Elizabeth.  
  
“Now, do you know who sent that man or who he was after?”  
  
“Apart from finding where I was? No," said the man, crossing his arms. "Why do you not ask him?"  
  
"He has himself been killed," said Darcy. "Maybe _you_ ought to speak before such a fate befalls you."  
  
"Are you threatening me?"  
  
"I am not! I am trying to _save_ you!"  
  
They tried, but could not get one more word from the man, and they soon afterwards let him go, asking him to come back to the same time and place on the morrow should he change his mind but without hopes the man would do so.  
  
"How frustrating!" cried Elizabeth while they were on their way back to Alden Hall. "It seems we are unable to obtain any information from anyone! These people are annoyingly silent. Do you truly believe he may be killed?"  
  
“He would not speak, Elizabeth. After his brother’s murderer was dead, he is still afraid to speak. Since he did not flee the neighbourhood, I think there is a good chance that the person responsible for these deaths is still around, and thus the gardener is at risk.”  
  
"This is not leading us anywhere," Elizabeth said with a frustrated sigh. "We are missing something. I suspect this something is a motive. We have thought about the people implicated, but not about their reasons to be implicated in this affair.”  
  
"And how do you suggest we proceed?"  
  
"We ought to go back where it all begin."  
  
"The hothouse?"  
  
"The pineapple plot in the hothouse. I want to have another look a it."  
  
“What could you learn of such a visit?”  
  
“I hope to discover what Mr Lanscombe could have seen that resulted in his murder.”  
  
“And observe the plants you could only glance at the first time?” suggested Darcy.  
  
“That, too,” said Elizabeth with a smile.  
  
They were soon back into the hothouse, at the very place Elizabeth wished to be.  
  
“Look,” she said with a smile. “These are _Buginvillæa_. When they grow up, they will be vine-like, with colourful flowers and—”  
  
She frowned and looked closer at the shoots. After a time, Darcy asked: “Elizabeth? Is something wrong?”  
  
“These,” she said, pointing at a row of small plants, “do _not_ look like _Buginvillæa_.”  
  
“They do not?”  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. “The leaves are not quite the right shape,” she said, still inspecting the shoot.  
  
“Can you identify which species it is?”  
  
“What do you think I am currently trying to accomplish?”  
  
To this he could make no answer, and she continued her observation. At length, she sighed.  
  
“I wish I had thought to take the Linnaeus with me, however I am fairly certain this must be _Thea sinensis_.”  
  
“And what is that?”  
  
“This, my dear husband, could well be the motive for all these murders.”  
  
“What _is_ this plant, Elizabeth? Some kind of addictive substance?”  
  
“Given how easy and cheap it is to get laudanum, it would not be worth the trouble.”  
  
“What, then?”  
  
“A essential yet expensive staple of every English home,” she said, looking expectantly at him.  
  
He thought an instant about what she said.  
  
“ _Tea_ 2? All this violence because of _tea_?”  
  
“It is the most logical explanation. Mr Lanscombe may either have known enough about botany to identify those shoots, or have surprised a conversation between the head gardener and his partner. Oh dear.”  
  
“Elizabeth?”  
  
“Do you think,” she said with apprehension, “that Mr Eversleigh is behind this operation?”  
  
“I doubt it,” said Darcy slowly. “His reaction on discovering the various bodies was genuine. He was lost.”  
  
“Then to whom would his head gardener be loyal?”  
  
Darcy frowned. “I shall ask Everseigh about it, about how he came to hire the man.”  
  
“If his brother in law was a cobbler in the village, he may not have come from very far.”  
  
“I still do not quite grasp why tea would be a sufficient motive for these murders. Yes, it would raise money, but a lot of money would be spent in the endeavour, too. If growing tea were worth it, more would be done to grow it all over England rather than import it.”  
  
“True, but in this case the smugglers would only spend on shoots and conditioning, since they make use of Eversleigh’s greenhouses. Moreover, the operation appears to be still at its beginning, so there is no saying whether actual profit would be made from it. I suppose they could always blend their leaves with lime or other inexpensive leaves.”  
  
“Why grow it here at all instead of simply smuggling it from the continent?”  
  
“Oh, smuggling it is also done, according to my uncle, but apparently the way it is packaged and transported gives it a very bad taste. There would be a market for better-tasting contraband tea.”  
  
“Hm. I see.”  
  
“Still, this is a risky endeavour: would the magistrate not be in a position to halt such a traffic?”  
  
“Yes. You are right. That is it.”  
  
“Darcy?”  
  
“The magistrate must be behind it. This is why he prevented me to question Daniels, and it was easy for him to arrange for his death.”  
  
“Could he not merely be incompetent?”  
  
“If he were, people would not show him so much respect.” He shook his head. “No, I am afraid he must be involved. He would be in a position to close eyes. The lack of sea access means that no one would think about smuggling, and with his position as magistrate, Mr Conway can easily misdirect any inquiries."  
  
"This is a very pretty hypothesis, and it is supported by no proof whatsoever."  
  
“You are just jealous that I thought of it first,” he said with a smirk.  
  
“This is no laughing matter! If you are wrong, think about how embarrassing it would be! And if you are right," she added before she could voice an objection, "what could be done if we have no evidence to present?"  
  
"I do not know. We ought to try to speak with the head gardener again."  
  
**Friday 19 September**  
  
Hoping that the man would show himself again, they went to the meeting point. The man _was_ there, but he was also dead. It looked as if he had fallen while walking or running before hitting his head on a stone.  
  
"There is a bloodied stone here," Elizabeth pointed. "Its position could be consistent with an accident, but I do not like this at all."  
  
She crouched and looked closer. "There is some grass under that rock, and it does not appear that the ground has been disturbed around. I am fairly certain this was put here afterwards. The stone killed him, but it was probably held in a hand."  
  
"I shall speak with Mr Conway again."  
  
"Why you alone?"  
  
"Can you honestly tell me that your distrust of the man would not show on your face or in your attitude?"  
  
Elizabeth sighed. "Very well. I shall see whether Mrs Eversleigh has something to say about anything regarding the situation."  
  
Darcy was soon back from his errand, and on seeing his expresion, Elizabeth did not think he was successful. She led him for a walk in the gardens, and he shared his impressions with her as soon as they were assured no one could overhear them.  
  
"I do not like this either, Elizabeth. Mr Conway brushed me off again. Your hypothesis appears more and more credible, more so since his surprise when I told him of the gardener's death did not appear genuine."  
  
"I spoke with Mrs Eversleigh," said Elizabeth, "She had nothing but praise for Mr Conway. _He_ was the one on whose recommendation their head gardener was hired, as an under gardener first, of course, but he quickly made his way up."  
  
A contemplative silence followed, which Elizabeth broke.  
  
"We could pretend Mr Lanscombe briefly woke up while I was at his side and told me that he saw Mr Conway with our gardener!"  
  
"We cannot. Not only do we not know whether such a meeting happened, but people would wonder why you did not speak earlier," Darcy objected. "I believe we ought to tell Eversleigh about the tea."  
  
"What if we are wrong and Eversleigh is part of this?"  
  
"I shall be on my guard."  
  
Their walk had led them to the greenhouse, and they decided to summon their host there. When a puzzled Eversleigh arrived, they made their way to the shoots Elizabeth found suspicious. Once they were in front of that plot, she asked:  
  
"Do you know what this is?"  
  
"I believe this is some exotic bush or vine," he answered, shrugging.  
  
"What if I told you this was tea?"  
  
Two pairs of eyes observed his reaction carefully. Each Darcy concluded that such astonishment must be natural, though Mr Darcy wondered whether it may have been surprise at the fact the shoots had been identified. Eversleigh's subsequent reaction put this lingering suspicion to rest.  
  
"So _this_ is why Lanscombe died?" he asked coldly. "This is what my gardener was hiding? I will have him _hang_!"  
  
"No, you will not," Darcy answered with calm.  
  
"Why ever not?" was the outraged answer.  
  
"Because he is already dead."  
  
Eversleigh opened his mouth, closed it, frowned, and, at last, spoke.  
  
"How?"  
  
"It looked as if he had taken a bad fall," Elizabeth said.  
  
Eversleigh put his hand over his eyes.  
  
"Darcy let you see _this_?"  
  
"We happened upon his body together, and I had no reason to hold her back."  
  
Eversleigh sighed, but any remark he could have been about to voice was cut short by Elizabeth's challenging glare.  
  
"You said it _looked_ like a bad fall," he opted to say.  
  
Darcy nodded and signalled for Elizabeth to speak.  
  
"Closer observation made it clear that it was a blow to the head."  
  
"Who could have done such a thing?"  
  
"The same person who organised the cultivation of tea here, who had a man of his hired as a gardener, and who could control the local crime."  
  
At Eversleigh's blank look, Darcy added: "Mr Conway."  
  
"The magistrate? Now you are being ridiculous."  
  
"He is not!"  
  
"Your faith in your husband is touching, Mrs Darcy, but you must see that this is an absurd accusation."  
  
"Which makes the man's scheme even cleverer, since he would count on such a reaction if he was ever suspected of wrongdoing," she countered.  
  
"I shall ask Uncle Earl for help, but we must deceive Conway and lead him to betray himself," said Darcy.  
  
“I think I may have an idea,” said Elizabeth, looking at the brazier contemplatively.  
  
**Soon afterwards**  
  
When he was told that there had been a fire at the Alden Hall greenhouses, Mr Conway had insisted to come and look at the same himself. He could not hide his anger at the sight of the fallen brazier and the pile of burned and discarded shoots. The magistrate immediately talked about discovering and punishing those responsible for such criminal carelessness.  
  
“You will want to rethink your plans,” Darcy said coldly.  
  
“The brazier had been lit only this morning,” Elizabeth explained, “and I was surprised to find it hot.”  
  
She had soot traces on her gloves and dress to match her story. A careful observer would have detected earth underneath.  
  
“You nincompoop! Could you not have been more careful?”  
  
"I do not like the way you address my wife,” said Darcy. “Moreover, I find it curious that you did not overly mourn the death of four men, yet came ready to move heaven and earth in order to discover who was responsible of that, all things considered, inconsequent accident."  
  
"I concur," Elizabeth said. "It is not, after all, as if all the building has been destroyed, or even all the _Buginvillæa_. See? There are some here. The footmen arrived in time to save those shoots.”  
  
Conway leaned forward, his eyes twinkling, but soon straightened up, scowling.  
  
" _Buginvillæa_! All this work reduced to _nothing_!"  
  
The Darcy looked at each other while Eversleigh exclaimed: "What can you mean?"  
  
"Surely you exaggerate," said Elizabeth with a shrug. "Moreover, I cannot see how Mr Eversleigh's hothouses can be of any interest to you."  
  
"Foolish woman! Have you any idea of the sum I invested in them?"  
  
" _I_ should like to learn about this," a voice from behind them was heard. It was the Earl of —— . "I heard enough, and so will the judge."  
  
"You do not know _anything_ ," said Conway with a frown.  
  
"He knows about the four men you murdered or had murdered to keep your tea operation silent," Elizabeth countered. At this, Conway jumped and stared at her.  
  
He stayed silent a long time.  
  
"What were the odds of _two_ botanists visiting at the same time?" he said at last with a sigh. "The gentleman's death was an accident, and I am not even responsible for it. Your gardener pushed past your guest when he began to question him about the tea. He fell and died. I did not kill his brother in law either, nor that man's murderer, and the gardener himself made a bad fall. You cannot pin any of these deaths on me, and as for the tea—all of it burned; the unharmed shoots are only vine. You have no proof against me."  
  
"I shall see. Meanwhile, you will wait in your gaol."  
  
**The following days**  
  
Conway had been right about this: no proof could be found of his involvement in the recent events, and the confession he had made was roundabout at best. It could have been enough, given who the witnesses were, to try him and maybe condemn him, but it turned out to be unnecessary, for after the magistrate was arrested, several people came forward with their complains about the man.  
  
It turned out that his foray into contraband was not the first illegal operation he had concocted, and if the proofs against him in the aborted tea operation were indirect, more than enough evidence of swindling and extortion were found, and the man was soon removed from the local society, to the satisfaction of all.  
  
Back at Alden Hall, the Darcys and Fitzwilliams found themselves in a drawing room together.  
  
"Alone at last! It seems as if we barely saw you in the agitation of the past days. Now that things have somewhat settled—have you still no good news to share?" Uncle Earl said with a wink.  
  
"They have not been married one year, and you asked Elizabeth the same question the day we arrived." protested the Viscountess. "Wait until their second anniversary to ask them again."  
  
"I gather they will have news to share—willingly!—before that," added the Viscount with a smile.  
  
"We shall certainly not stay so long without writing," said Elizabeth.  
  
"I hope we shall have more than letters! Now that you are married, you _must_ have a house party at Pemberley."  
  
"Maybe next summer," said Elizabeth after having exchanged a glance with her husband.  
  
"Or the one after," amended Darcy. "There are a dreadful number of rooms in need of refreshing."  
  
"I imagine," said the Viscount, "that you want to be sure that there will be no recurrence of cheese problems."  
  
Darcy scowled. "You know of this?"  
  
"All White's know of this. It may even have spread to the other clubs."  
  
Darcy scowled more as Elizabeth stifled a laugh. The hunting party resumed and was a resounding success, and the only other casualties were that of partridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Random Research:
> 
> 1\. The spelling “Bougainvillea” is from 1930
> 
> 2\. The tea bush was named "Thea sinensis" by Linnaeus in 1753. The renaming into "Camellia sinensis" is from 1818. I have no idea whether tea could be cultivated in hot houses, especially in quantities big enough to make a smuggling operation worth it, but since it’s a project and not a fact, and still in its beginnings … plus this has no vocation to be a History Book ... I left it like that.


	13. Case 11 - A Doll Disappears

**Case 11: A Doll Disappears**

  
  
**Tuesday 16 December 1812**  
  
After another hunting party—at which nothing much happened—and a short stay in London, the Darcys had travelled to Netherfield. They were to spend Christmas in Hertfordshire with Elizabeth’s family.  
  
Mrs Bennet had not taken offence from the fact her daughter and son-in-law would not stay at Longbourn, for it had given her a reason to plan the remodelling of Elizabeth's and Jane's childhood rooms. Longbourn would soon have a guest suite worthy of Mr and Mrs Darcy. Mr Bennet had endeavoured to tell his wife that newlyweds would surely not mind sharing a room, thus this was likely not the reason for their decision to reside with the Bingleys, but she did not seem to hear him at all.  
  
Jane had told all this to Elizabeth while showing her to the suite she was to share with Darcy.  
  
“I do realise that the bed in your dressing-room may be superfluous, but you shall appreciate the privacy you will have for dressing and washing.”  
  
Elizabeth simply nodded.  
  
**Monday 22 December 1812**  
  
The Gardiners had arrived from London two days before, and the family, including the Phillipses, were all to gather at Longbourn for dinner. Mrs Gardiner’s intelligence regarding the London fashions was less sought after than it had been the previous years, for Mrs Bennet fancied that her eldest daughters would now be in the best position to tell her this sort of thing. They still spoke about the newest fashions, but the topic of their discussions soon shifted slightly. Elizabeth, of course, only realised this once she found herself alone with the other married ladies.  
  
“Have you any news to share, girls?” Mrs Phillips began.  
  
“I believe we told all our news when we arrived, Aunt, and as you live near Jane, you must know hers already.”  
  
“I meant news of a _special_ kind.”  
  
Elizabeth frowned. She _could_ tell them about their latest adventures but doubted it would be deemed acceptable drawing-room conversation. Meanwhile, Jane had faintly blushed.  
  
“Jane!” Mrs Bennet cried. “I am _so_ happy for you!”  
  
“We are not certain yet,” she said softly.  
  
Mrs Bennet nonetheless went on, predicting that Jane was certain to bear her husband a son, before she turned expectantly towards Elizabeth, who looked back at her. After a handful of seconds, Mrs Bennet’s face fell slightly.  
  
“For some of us it takes more time, Lizzy. I am certain you shall be blessed in time.”  
  
Both of her aunts nodded at this. Elizabeth was not certain about how to react: should she share some appreciation for what was meant as a reassurance, or just ignore it as she had planned to do with similar comments? She was also vexed about not having realised that _this_ was where her mother’s mind went. In the end, she mumbled some excuses and left the room.  
  
Once in the hall, she found the second of the Gardiner children, a little girl about six years old, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, weeping. She sat on the steps next to her cousin.  
  
“Well, Eleanor, what is the matter with you?”  
  
“My dolly disappeared, and no one will help me to find her,” she answered, looking at her cousin with eyes full of tears. She sniffed, and added: “They all tell me that Jeanne will eventually turn up, but I wants her _now_!  
  
"I see," said Elizabeth. "And what has been done, what has been attempted, to recover her?"  
  
"I searched in the nursery," said the little girl sulkily, "but she was not there, and she is not in a visible place in the morning parlour either. Aunt Bennet caught me when I was about to look under the settee and sent me back to the nursery," she finished with mournful eyes. "Cousin Mary said I should pay less attention to frivolous things and focus more on my lessons.”  
  
"When did you see Jeanne for the last time?"  
  
"Yesterday before dinner," Eleanor said, sniffling, "and then we came downstairs to greet you and Jane and Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, and I left her, and when we went up again for dinner she wasn't—was not there anymore!" At this, she burst into tears.  
  
"There, there,” said Elizabeth, hugging her cousin. “Where exactly did you leave Jeanne?"  
  
"By the window,” she answered between sniffs. “She wanted to look at the hermitage."  
  
"Was the window open?"  
  
Eleanor shook her head.  
  
"Could your sister or brothers have displaced her?"  
  
"No. I was the last out, because I wanted to sit her down her properly, and I was the first up, and Nurse says she did not move her either!"  
  
"This is quite the mystery. May I ask Mr Darcy to help us search for your dolly?"  
  
"Would he care for Jeanne? Uncle Bennet said I was just being a silly girl, and Papa said he was very sorry but he could not help," Eleanor said with a wounded look.  
  
"Mr Darcy will help and will certainly not mock you. I promise."  
  
Eleanor sniffed and nodded.  
  
Elizabeth had a word with the nurse, who confirmed her charge's words, and with her aunt Gardiner, who knew nothing more and was sorry for her daughter, whom even the promise of a new dolly once they were back in London could not console.  
  
Mrs Darcy then went in search of her husband, whom she found in her father's book-room, distractedly turning the pages of a book.  
  
"There you are!"  
  
"There I am, too," said an amused Mr Bennet, raising his eyes from his own book. "Was half an hour's separation from your husband too much to bear?"  
  
"I need to speak to you," said Elizabeth without picking her father up on his remark. "Oh, and to you too, Papa."  
  
"What is so urgent that you need to interrupt my reading?"  
  
"Are you aware that Eleanor's doll has been missing since yesterday?"  
  
"You disturb me for _this_?" her father said with a scowl.  
  
"Do you believe we can be of any help in that matter?" asked her husband in a much more engaging tone. Elizabeth suspected he had been as bored as she was.  
  
"The girl misplaces her toy and will find it again later? Young girls are forever distracted, you ought not to take this to heart."  
  
Before Elizabeth could speak, Darcy closed his book, so she adressed her words to him.  
  
"Eleanor is, according to Jane who knows her best, a rather organised and methodical little girl. She said that she sat her doll at the window and that the toy was gone soon afterwards. I have no reason to doubt her."  
  
"The nurse will have put it away," Mr Bennet said dismissively. "This is no reason for you to disturb my quiet."  
  
"The nurse would have taken it out at once when her charge asked for it again," Darcy objected.  
  
"Then it must have been damaged."  
  
"Aunt would have been told about it. According to Jane, this situation—a damaged toy—has  happened before."  
  
Darcy frowned. "Maybe—"  
  
"Will you kindly go elsewhere to elaborate on your hypothesis?"  
  
Darcy frowned more, glanced at his father in law then at Elizabeth, nodded, and they left the room.  
  
"Who did you question?" he said once they were in the hall.  
  
"Only Cousin, her nurse, and Aunt Gardiner."  
  
"Could one of her siblings have taken hold of it?"  
  
"No. The doll disappeared when the children came to greet us. She was the last out of the nursery, and the first in when they came back."  
  
"Hm. Who was unaccounted for then?"  
  
"I believe only my mother was with us."  
  
"We shall have to determine where the others were at that time."  
  
"You cannot seriously believe that one of my sisters or my father could have done such a thing!"  
  
"Your younger sisters can be ... mischievous."  
  
"That they are, but they are not malicious, and would not hurt their cousin."  
  
"Miss Bennet?"  
  
"She objects to dolls as being the means of cultivating vanity, but had she been behind this, I believe she would have given a different kind of lecture to Eleanor when she voiced her grief. In any case, she was practicing carols."  
  
"I heard the piano, but was she the one playing?"  
  
"Good question," said Elizabeth, making a note.  
  
"Your father would not have liked the resulting bother so we can leave him out."  
  
"I agree."  
  
"Your servants would not steal."  
  
"Of course not!"  
  
"So we are back to Catherine and Lydia."  
  
When asked, Kitty said she had been selecting a gown for dinner, which the maid confirmed, and the eldest Gardiner confirmed that Mary was practicing the pianoforte, for she went into the room to observe her. Lydia, whom they saw only as they left, said she was working on a gown and a bonnet.  
  
"Yet another one?"  
  
"A lady cannot have too many bonnets," said Lydia with a giggle. "I want to ensure that this one is very fashionable. I also ought to work on an matching pelisse."  
  
"That sounds rather ambitious."  
  
"I believe it will be done in time," Lydia said, and she skipped away.  
  
Before they could discuss what had been said, the company entered the hall. The Bingleys had announced their intention to leave, and they and the Darcys were soon on their way back to Netherfield.  
  
"Lydia smiled when she thought you could not see her after you mentioned the missing doll," Darcy said once he was alone with Elizabeth.  
  
"You saw that? I did not think she could be so callous."  
  
"Neither do I, which is why I believe the doll is safe and that she knows something about its present location. I also believe that, as the incident was dismissed by your parents, your uncle and, to an extent, your aunt, she may not have realised how hurt your cousin was."  
  
Elizabeth sighed. “I am afraid that it would be very like Lydia to be so thoughtless.”  
  
**Tuesday 23 December 1812**  
  
The Darcys came back at Longbourn before breakfast, leaving the Bingleys with a note. As soon as they arrived, Elizabeth climbed the stairs and went straight to Lydia's room to confront her, only to find herself face-to-face with Jeanne.  
  
"Would you care to explain this? How could you do this to Eleanor?"  
  
"La, Lizzy, you could never appreciate a good joke," her sister pouted.  
  
"How, pray, is stealing a seven year old's doll a _good joke_?"  
  
"Its reappearance would have been," said Lydia, rolling her eyes before going back to her needlework, and only then did Elizabeth notice the Jeanne-sized pelisse in her sister's hands. She looked back to the doll: on its head was a brand new fashionable bonnet.  
  
" _You_ did those?"  
  
"I did—and now you will go and spoil the surprise," said Lydia with a pout. "I intended to have Jeanne return on Christmas Day in her brand new clothes, with her old ones—and some new ones—in her trunk."  
  
True enough, near Jeanne was a small box that looked like a miniature trunk.  
  
"I saw that box in Meryton and this gave me the idea for the scheme."  
  
"I shall not speak of this, Lydia, but you must give me Jeanne at once. With her old clothes only; the new may go in the trunk."  
  
Lydia tilted her head on the side. "I do not need more fittings, but the hat cannot go in the trunk. I thought it would be a jolly good surprise if Jeanne showed up as if she had gone on a shopping trip."  
  
"Did you realise that our cousin has been miserable since her doll's disappearance, and that there are two more days before Christmas?"  
  
"I suppose this is a long time to be miserable," conceded Lydia. "Maybe I ought to make a bandbox."  
  
"I shall do it, if you give me Jeanne right away." As Lydia began to undress the doll, Elizabeth added: "I promise that the box will be very pretty."  
  
Her youngest sister nodded. "Will you write _property of Jeanne Dolly_ on it? The trunk is already initialled. Having this appear as a delivery won't be as amusing as having the doll herself show up, but I never thought Eleanor would miss her so dreadfully."  
  
Not five minutes afterwards, Elizabeth and her husband entered the nursery, Jeanne with them. The little girl's cries of delight and hugs of gratitude hinted at the fact Elizabeth may have replaced Jane as this Gardiner's favourite cousin.  
  
On Christmas Eve, when one of the tenant’s children made a special delivery for Jeanne, Eleanor observed that her doll must have gone away to choose some new things. Only Elizabeth saw Lydia’s satisfied smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they'll keep being welcomed in Longbourn at least. ;-p


	14. Case 12 - The Enigma of the Twelfth Night Masquerade

**Case 12: The Enigma of the Twelfth Night Masquerade**

  
  
**London, in front of the Darcys’ house, Tuesday 6 January 1813**  
  
The Darcys came out of the door and down the steps, where their carriage awaited them. The gentleman helped his wife climb into it before following her.  
  
"I believe my maid is rather cross with me," Elizabeth said as the carriage departed.  
  
"How so?" asked Darcy as he looked at his wife. "I cannot see anything in your appearance that hints at such a thing.”  
  
Had this been any other evening, one could have wondered at Mr Darcy’s eyesight. However, since the couple _were_ going to a Twelfth Night’s ball, Elizabeth’s attire was in every way appropriate.  
  
"Reynolds would never bungle her work! She was, however, particularly silent in her efficiency."  
  
Darcy raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I am used to exchanging pleasantries with her."  
  
"Do you think she is in some trouble?"  
  
"Oh no. Her attitude dates from the day I told her we would go back to London after Christmas and I did not know when we should be back to Pemberley. I believe she was disappointed."  
  
"Do you wish for another abigail?"  
  
"Your imagination jumps to a rather radical solution! I should be loath to part with Reynolds; she never complains about the stains on my petticoats."  
  
"She is paid to take care of them without complaining," Darcy observed. "Moreover, I suspect she and Smith are working together on the creation of a universal stain remover. I recently heard them speak of patenting their invention."  
  
The carriage slowed, then stopped, and the couple made their way to the door. Now that she had departed the carriage and stepped into the light, it was possible to have a greater idea of what Elizabeth’s dress was meant to be. A great number of scraps of fabrics in all the colours of the rainbow, from jewel tones to pastels, had made their way on her dress and been arranged by gradation of colour. By contrast, her husband’s dress of monochromatic black appeared singularly unimaginative.  
  
"It _does_ set you apart from the crowd tonight,” his wife conceded. “Had you wished to blend in as you usually do, you would have failed spectacularly."  
  
"This is true,” he countered, “but you forget the advantage of the mask. As such a plain disguise will be attributed to a lack of funds, my identity will not be known, and I shall therefore  be left in peace."  
  
"Not if I stay by your side."  
  
"You love to dance,” he said with a fond smile. “I do not expect that you will be there often, though I promise to keep an eye on you."  
  
Elizabeth laughed gaily and was soon whisked away by her partner for the first dance. Her husband had been correct: though her various partners brought her back to her husband at the end of each, she had yet to spend enough time away from the dance floor to have a conversation with the man. She found she looked forward to the supper set, for which she had no partner yet; she hoped he would either dance with her or sit through it with her. As she was dancing with some colourful bird, she looked for him in the ballroom, she thought she saw him near a window. However, at the end of the set, her partner brought her to opposite side of the room—to Mr Darcy.  
  
"How did you get here so fast?” she asked once the probably parrot had left. “I am sure I just saw you by the window!”  
  
“I barely moved from this spot, Elizabeth,” he answered, shaking his head. “I think you merely saw someone dressed as I am.”  
  
“How disappointing to find that your costume is not so original after all!”  
  
“I am rather relieved to have an easy explanation for the note I received.”  
  
“What note?” she enquired at once.  
  
“A folded piece of paper which was given to me by the younger Mr Sanders, if I am not mistaken. He is the young man all in white over there. I shall tell you more later.”  
  
Elizabeth’s newest partner had come to collect her, and Darcy let her go with a frown. He was fairly certain that the Egyptian prince presenting himself as a gentleman was no one else than some rakish acquaintance of his elder cousin. He watched her particularly and did not think he saw any hint of discomfort in her attitude, but she _was_ wearing a mask. When she came back to him, he hastened to ask:  
  
"Did that man importune you?"  
  
"Not really, why?"  
  
"He is known to be somewhat dissolute."  
  
"Oh. I _did_ have the feeling that I was missing some level of the discussion. I fear I may have missed more than a few double entendres and made myself appear a simpleton. How vexing!"  
  
"Maybe he thought you a very virtuous wife and faithful spouse," Darcy offered.  
  
“I am flattered that you see my actions in such a positive light."  
  
"I am your husband; consequently, your good qualities are under my protection.”  
  
“And it belongs to you to exaggerate them as much as possible. No one asked for the next set; will you dance with me?”  
  
He complied.  
  
**Later that evening**  
  
"Now," Elizabeth said once she and Darcy were in their carriage again, "What will you do about the note?"  
  
“What note?”  
  
“The one you put in your pocket after telling me Mr Sanders inexplicably gave it to you!”  
  
"Oh. Beyond throwing it in the nearest fire? Nothing."  
  
"You cannot mean that!"  
  
"I can, and I do."  
  
"Give me this note."  
  
Darcy stared at her.  
  
"Please!"  
  
"Since you asked nicely, I shall show it to you once we are in my study."  
  
Consequently, he barely had the time to give Mr Rodgers his hat, coat and gloves before the door was closed , and he was faced with an expectant Elizabeth. He smiled.  
  
"You _are_ aware that such attitude is likely to make people _talk_ , are you not?"  
  
She shrugged. "People always like to talk, and this will be consistent with the image of a virtuous wife and faithful spouse."  
  
"Are you certain?” he said, still smiling. “It seems that virtuous wives find such displays of affection indecorous."  
  
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “If it is so, I wonder how many of them have to compete with a mistress for their husband's time as a result," she said before turning her attention to the letter.  
  
"I wonder what you find so fascinating," said Darcy after a time. "You must have read it at least three times. Shall I burn it now?"  
  
Elizabeth lifted her eyes from the letter.  
  
“It seems to be a love letter.”  
  
“Which is why I shall destroy it.”  
  
“Why not forward it to its actual recipient?”  
  
“Because they should know better than to pass a note around at a _masked_ ball. Moreover, I do not condone that kind of things,” he said with a frown.  
  
“Passing around love notes?” asked a bewildered Elizabeth.  
  
“Passing a love note to a young lady who is not yet out.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“There is something I do not quite understand either.”  
  
“Do tell me.”  
  
“As I told you, though she must be about your age, this Miss Sanders is not yet out, for her elder sister is not married. Their father is very attentive, and in any case, from what I know of Graves—whose appearance fits the other man in black you have seen—he would not act in so dishonourable a fashion. Moreover,” he said, taking a look at the letter, “The penmanship does not resemble that of a young lady.”  
  
Elizabeth stared round-eyed at her husband. “But it does!”  
  
He shook his head again. “Look closely: it is crafted to resemble it. It is all calculated, down to the ill-formed letters. One would not notice that at first glance, but they are the ones that give the trick away.”  
  
“How would you know such a thing? I have four sisters and you only one!”  
  
“True, but circumstances were such that we wrote to each other often. If Miss Elizabeth Sanders did not write the letter, then perhaps someone is trying to get her and Mr Graves in trouble.”  
  
She nodded, took the paper, and studied it for some minutes before setting it back on the table.  
  
“What could that mean? Have the Sanders an enemy who would forge letters and spread rumours about their daughter in order to ruin the family?”  
  
“Even the ruination of their daughter would not diminish their standing in society, but...”  
  
“But?”  
  
“There have been other rumours. Linking the younger Sanders and Graves—anything from smuggling to espionage for the French—but no proof has been found, of course.”  
  
He glanced at the page laid on his desk and extended his hand towards it.  
  
“I wonder if...”  
  
Elizabeth was quicker and snatched the letter before he could touch it.  
  
“You think it could be written in some sort of code?”  
  
“Indeed. Now, what code?”  
  
“Every other word, or one word out of five? The initials?”  
  
After having taken pen and paper, the couple tried different techniques without result.  
  
“This will not lead us anywhere!” Darcy had thrown his pen away in frustration.  
  
“The mishapened letters,” said Elizabeth. “We did not try those yet. You said they attracted your eye.”  
  
Her husband pushed another sheet of paper across the table, and she set to work. After some time, she pushed it back towards him with a triumphant smile.  
  
It read: _NzewDevloptsMeeptThur_.  
  
“It appears there are genuinely misformed letters in the letter, after all,” was all he said.  
  
“We must do something!”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Those men are plotting something. What if they are selling military secrets to the French and we just sit and do nothing?”  
  
“None of them are in the army, Elizabeth. They studied the law. Moreover, this is a message from the _sister_ of Sanders, not from Sanders himself. I see nothing more in that than a request for an assignation.”  
  
“It could be a clever way to disguise a Nefarious Scheme!”  
  
“Careful, dear. I can hear the capitals when you speak.”  
  
“They could still have means to gain some information and sell it!”  
  
“What do you suggest we do? We do not even know where they are to meet!”  
  
“Have Weston follow Mr Sanders, and Smith if you can spare him. We shall have to listen to whatever is said at that meeting.”  
  
“We do not even know whether the meeting will be held!”  
  
“Maybe Mr Graves will eventually show up, maybe he will not, but we shall at least discover their meeting point and watch that place instead of following two persons around.”  
  
Darcy kept silent before saying, in a dejected voice:  
  
“If I say no, you will go by yourself.”  
  
“Well, I _would_ take some footmen with me,” she said with a blush.  
  
“You will be the death of me.”  
  
**The following Thursday, Hyde Park**  
  
Few people could be seen, as the fashionable hour was still far away. Most fashionable people were actually still asleep at that time of the day. Elizabeth and Darcy were walking in a lane, endeavouring to get closer to a pair of gentlemen without being obvious. Smith had sent word as soon as he had seen the two meet, and the Darcys were able to arrive soon afterwards.  
  
The couple were in luck, for their targets sat on a bench at the edge of some bushes. Getting on the other side of those in an inconspicuous manner took them some time, but, to their relief, Mr Graves and Mr Sanders were still speaking when they arrived.  
  
“—need more time,” one said.  
  
“Let us hope, then, that the muslin will be enough to tide us over before the silk arrives,” the other answered with a sigh. “And next time, think of something else to fix an appointment. For now, Elsie has not been told anything, but I am afraid of what would happen should that note fall in unfriendly hands.”  
  
“You do know that I would not leave her to suffer.”  
  
“I still believe that it would be better if you _gained_ my father’s approval instead of leaving him no choice but to agree to it for her reputation’s sake.”  
  
Their voices had drifted away, and a glance through the bushes allowed Elizabeth to see that their quarry had left the bench and had arrived on the lane where they were saying their goodbyes.  
  
“Muslin and silk?” Darcy said as they walked away themselves. “That does not seem very threatening.”  
  
“Is that a challenge?” Elizabeth archly replied.  
  
He glared.  
  
“Be that as it may,” she went on, “This did not come across as a romantic scheme either. I shall call on the Sanders ladies soon. I hope Miss Elsie will be present in the drawing room.”  
  
**Later that day**  
  
Thursdays had been the day on which Mrs Sanders received calls, and Darcy awaited Elizabeth in his study. He had set his book aside on hearing the entrance door open, and it was not long before Elizabeth strode through the door and let herself fall into an armchair.  
  
“Trade!” she said, huffing in disgust.  
  
“Contraband again?” he said, tilting his head.  
  
“If only it were! No, honest, hard-working commerce of cloth,” she said in a dejected voice. “I only had to vaguely refer to the conversation we overheard before Miss Elsie told me everything about it.”  
  
“So she was part of it?” Darcy said, raising his eyebrows.  
  
“She was—is. She is sweet on the younger Graves, and he reciprocates the interest, so she would not have minded that a correspondence between had been made known.”  
  
“I still fail to understand—”  
  
“The Sanders family and the Graves family hold very traditional views when it comes to their younger sons’ occupations. Apparently, both young Mr Sanders and young Mr Graves found that the law would not be a profitable study and, instead, invested their allowances in a commercial enterprise. They disguised their correspondence in order not to be found out by their relatives—at risk of their allowances being cut.”  
  
“And they drew Miss Sanders into this?”  
  
“I understand she intercepted some of their correspondence, or overheard a discussion, and decided that she would invest some of her pin money in their schemes. The fact it throws her together with Mr Graves may have been another inducement too.”  
  
“What shall happen now?”  
  
Elizabeth shrugged.  
  
“I imagine we ought to leave them to their cloak-and-dagger means of communication, since there is no harm done. I imagine that there will be a marriage once they get tired of it—or once that they have accumulated enough wealth that Miss Elsie and Mr Graves can marry without needing their parents’ support.”  
  
“We shall send them a wedding present whenever they get to this.”  
  
“Along with that note?”  
  
“Why not?” he said with a smile.  
  
Elizabeth huffed.  
  
“You poor thing,” her husband said. “Hoping to unveil an international conspiracy only to find some young people’s wish for independence… are you not too disappointed by the way things turned?”  
  
“Not _too_ much. There _was_ a puzzle to be solved, after all, and this was better than nothing. It also put me back in Reynolds’s good graces.” On seeing Darcy’s inquiring gaze, she added: “She likes it when I behave in a manner befitting a proper young lady.”  
  
At this, he chuckled. “Poor Reynolds. How long do you think it will be before you disappoint her again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Reynolds be displeased soon? I'm still writing and the updates will pop up randomly.  
> I also wanted to acknowledge the Beta Ladies, who help me tidying up my text (before I mess up again with it). English is not my first language, and they're great with correcting me and reassuring me.


	15. Case 13 - Mess at Metcalfe Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while since this story was updated, and though I've got a couple of near-ready other cases, I can't meake any promises as to the story's updating. I'm grateful that you continue to read it despite its erratic schedule.
> 
> I have the help of a number of lovely beta-readers, whose keen eyes allowed me to eliminate quite a number of typos and anachronistic words from each chapter. Thanks a lot for your help, ladies!
> 
> Unrelated Note: I edited Case#10; Victor Fitzwilliam (Vic the Viscount, formerly Mercryl) is now Viscount Dakin. Neither he nor his wife will appear here, but I thought I’d warn you about the name change in case their name pops in later and you wonder who was that new character.
> 
> And now, let's see how the Darcys are doing.

**Case 13: Mess at Metcalfe Manor**

  
  
**The Darcys’ house in London, Friday 23 January**  
  
Mr Darcy had received another invitation to a hunting party. Truth to be told, he had received many such invitations, but this one had surprised him, for he had not been invited to that estate before, and he did not feel he could refuse.  
  
"It is from Herbert Metcalfe," Darcy said to his wife by way of explanation.  
  
"That still does not enlighten me as to your reaction," Elizabeth countered. "Does your aunt Catherine know that gentleman? Oh, and have you ever tried calling her Aunt Lady?"  
  
"I did; I did not know you knew of him."  
  
"It is not him I heard spoken about, but rather his wife, I believe. How did she like it?"  
  
"I never tried again. As for Mr Metcalfe, he is not married—and please, cease your questioning regarding familial address. It is extremely distracting."  
  
"As you wish!" huffed Elizabeth. "When we were in Rosings last spring, her ladyship informed us that a Lady Metcalfe was overcome with gratitude about a new governess which your aunt had recommended to her."  
  
"That lady would be the stepmother of Mr Metcalfe," said Darcy. "He is a little older than I am and has a brother about Anne's age as well as a younger sister. He also gained other sisters after his father remarried."  
  
"Hence the need for a trustworthy governess," said Elizabeth with a nod.  
  
"Precisely."  
  
"Do you think you have been invited now because, as you are now married, they do not fear you will misconstrue their invitation as the hope you will offer for their eldest daughter?"  
  
"They would fear such a misconstruction from Lady Catherine first. _She_ is the one they do not want to be at odds with."  
  
"Very true."  
  
"I fear, though, that the probable reason behind this invitation will not meet your expectations."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"It is the first time Mr Metcalfe has the choice over the invitations, and he writes that he finds himself in need of my advice. His father, Sir Hubert, died last year—do not look so hopeful, it was merely influenza."  
  
"How disappointing."  
  
"If you fear to get bored, do not despair: while we are hunting, I am certain that Lady Metcalfe will host the ladies of the neighbourhood, and you will have the pleasure of furthering your acquaintance with Lady Catherine and Mrs Lewis."  
  
Miss de Bourgh's wedding to the heir of a neighbouring estate had been a fairly intimate one, for her mother had been deeply unhappy with her choice of a husband. The Darcys, especially, had not been told of the happy event until _after_ it had taken place, possibly as a form of retaliation for having been aware of the couple's understanding before the lady's mother.  
  
"Metcalfe writes that he also invited the Bingleys," said Darcy who had returned to his letter, missing the glare his wife was directing at him. Such news could only change her vexation into delight.  
  
"Dear Jane! How I shall rejoice to see her again!"  
  
"Much more than my aunt and cousin, I gather."  
  
"Oh, hush!" she said with an indulgent smile. "I had no idea Bingley had so many acquaintances, and I am delighted he does."  
  
"The material point is not the _number_ of Bingley's acquaintances, but the number of those with whom he is on friendly terms. Unlike me, he is universally liked." Silence followed that declaration, and Darcy's lips twitched upwards as he asked: "Was it too much to expect some declaration of support from one's spouse?"  
  
"You are certainly likeable when you give yourself the trouble," she dutifully offered.  
  
"I am not sure whether this ought to be seen as a compliment or as a reproach."  
  
Her only answer was to smile.  
  
"Will you see your aunt Gardiner before we depart?"  
  
"Yes, depending on when we leave."  
  
"The day after tomorrow, if you have no objection?"  
  
"So soon! Reynolds will be displeased."  
  
"I received the letter only today."  
  
"But surely Mr Metcalfe did not expect you to jump in your carriage as soon as you had read it!"  
  
"I believe he hoped we would." Darcy looked thoughtfully at his letter. "I do wonder what he wants to talk to me about."  
  
"Maybe he simply hopes for your advice about how to best deal with Lady Catherine. He is her neighbour, after all, and it would not do to write such a thing in a letter."  
  
When Darcy raised an eyebrow, Elizabeth added: "Now that her daughter has a home of her own—as well as a husband who would not welcome any interference—she may take more interest in her neighbours' lives."  
  
"More interest than she gave them until now?" said Darcy, shuddering. "That would be quite a feat."  
  
"Since Mr Metcalfe is unmarried, and Lady Catherine has already been successful in securing a governess for the family, she might wish to try her hand at matchmaking."  
  
"Heaven forfend!" Then, looking at his letter: "It _would_ account for the urgency of the request."  
  
"Then it is settled: we shall leave the day after tomorrow, and I shall wait until we are back to visit my aunt."  
  
**Kent, Monday 26 January**  
  
The journey was uneventful, and after a change of horses at Bromley, they arrived at Metcalfe Manor in the early afternoon. Bingley and Jane, who had arrived the previous Saturday, came out on the steps as the Darcys’ carriage stopped, and the reunion between the sisters was emotional. The former Miss de Bourgh, now Mrs Lewis, was also present, as she had been visiting Lady Metcalfe and was just leaving when the Darcys arrived, though _that_ family reunion was far less touching. Darcy’s cousin appeared happy with her new situation in life, which was perhaps more than she could have expected had her mother managed to have her say in her choice of a husband.  
  
The Darcys were invited to join the company for tea after they had refreshed themselves in the rooms that had been assigned to them. Though he tried, Darcy could not manage to talk privately with their host and wondered at his reluctance to address the subject. As for Elizabeth, her joy of meeting her sister again was dimmed by the latter’s conversation. After shyly confirming her hopes of being soon a mother and being told that her sister did not await such a blessing yet, Jane had patted her hand and assured her that her time would come. To this Elizabeth had no answer she wished to share. Jane then listed all the signs that hinted at the possibility of a pregnancy, and her younger sister resolved to forget such unnecessary details as soon as she had forgotten her mother's advice on the same subject. She had no use for such knowledge at that point, and were the situation to change, she was certain she could find a book on the subject.  
  
**Wednesday 28 January**  
  
The men had been shooting, Lady Catherine had stayed at Rosings, and Elizabeth had rethought the uselessness of her sister's information. Miss Pope was unwell, and if Elizabeth interpreted correctly the interactions between Mr Metcalfe and his younger sisters' governess, _he_ had something to do with her predicament. Suddenly, Darcy's summons here took on another meaning.  
  
"Did our host talk to you about the reason why he so wished for our presence?" she asked her husband that evening before they changed for supper.  
  
"Not yet—there was always someone around. It appears he was merely hoping that a situation in which we should be left alone to converse would occur naturally, and since it has not, he has decided to create one. Metcalfe indicated he should like to talk with me privately this evening. I do not think this is about marriage, though—or about my aunt, for that matter, since she has yet to set foot at Metcalfe Manor."  
  
"I think this might be related to this, even vaguely." On seeing her husband's raised eyebrow, Elizabeth went on: "I believe this may be about Miss Pope."  
  
"You lost me there, dear."  
  
"We are alone."  
  
"I should not like to slip up in front of witnesses, _dear_. I believe you were about to tell me how Miss Pope would be involved in the situation."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I suspect that she is carrying your friend's child and that he seeks some advice on the matter."  
  
"I have no experience in that domain!" Darcy protested.  
  
"Of course you have," replied Elizabeth patiently. "Did you not tell me that you had taken upon yourself to provide for Mr Wickham's children?"  
  
"Metcalfe is no Wickham!"  
  
"I did not say he was," retorted Elizabeth. "If he were, he would merely abandon Miss Pope.”  
  
A knock at the door signalled the arrival of Reynolds, and the spouses separated to dress for supper.  
  
Darcy and their host were the last to join the company after the separation of the sexes ended, and Elizabeth surmised that her husband would have some information to impart to her. Soon afterwards, she declared her intention to retire for the night. Darcy followed her, and she turned on him as soon as her room's door was closed behind them.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"You were partly right."  
  
"Partly?"  
  
"He wants to marry her, Elizabeth. He asked me for advice about how making it easier for her to be accepted as his wife."  
  
"Why would he ask _you_?" said Elizabeth with a frown.  
  
"Because," her husband answered with an exasperated glance, "amongst all his acquaintances, I am the only one who he thinks married for love with a lady whose fortune and connections were less than splendid."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Quite so."  
  
"Well, he is not wrong. Apart from the reason for our marriage," she added with a wave of the hand. "Our match is an oddity in terms of fortune and connections, yet I dare say I am not too badly received."  
  
"You either ignore the ones who dismiss you or laugh at them,” he said with a fond smile. “Moreover, you never went into service. That last ciscumstance has made the gap between them wider."  
  
Elizabeth shrugged.  
  
"In any case, I advised him to do as we did: introduce his wife to a small number of selected people at a time so that, when they are in London, she will be able to rely on a number of friendly acquaintances. I told him we would be amongst that number."  
  
"Good."  
  
Darcy then put his hand on the door, but did not open it, apparently hesitating about something.  
  
“Is there more you wished to tell me?”  
  
"Metcalfe invited me—and only me—for a late game of billiards once the others have retired. If I learn something new, do you want me to wake you, or would you rather be told in the morning?"  
  
"Oh, tell me at once! I think most of the guests retired when we did. Now go, amuse yourself, and learn as much as you can—I hope you shall come back soon with some news."  
  
She had barely settled at her dressing table in her nightgown and dressing-gown to allow for Reynolds to unpin her hair when the door opened, and Darcy entered again.  
  
"I did not expect you so soon!" she yelped, before noticing that her husband was paler than when he had left earlier and more solemn than he usually was. "Did something happen?"  
  
"Metcalfe is dead, Elizabeth. I did not disturb anything; Weston is guarding the door."  
  
She wrapped her robe around herself before following her husband out of the room, leaving Reynolds shaking her head.  
  
In the billiards room, near a broken decanter, was the body of Mr Metcalfe. Elizabeth crouched at his side.  
  
"Cyanide," she said after a sniff at the broken crystal and a look at the body’s bluish lips.  
  
"I concur," Darcy said. "One of the decanters must have been tampered with."  
  
"Which means _you_ —every man in this house was at risk of dying!"  
  
"I do not think so. That particular cordial was only to the taste of the Metcalfe men—and then, mostly Hector’s, the younger brother."  
  
"A newcomer might have tried it," she said in a shaky voice.  
  
"It did not happen, Elizabeth."  
  
She took a deep breath and nodded. "I do not believe we shall learn anything else. Anyone, bar maybe some of the ladies, could have modified that drink at any time. Do we know when it was last touched?"  
  
"Mr Hector was last here three weeks ago," said the butler, who had been summoned and had entered the room while they were speaking. "I could not say whether Mr Metcalfe took a glass since then."  
  
Elizabeth turned to exit the room and stopped. At the door stood Miss Pope, pale and on the verge of crying.  
  
"I could not sleep, and I heard ... They say he is dead?" she whispered on realising she had Elizabeth's attention.  
  
"Yes. I am sorry for your loss. I—oh dear. I am sure that, er, not everyone knew ..."  
  
Miss Pope smiled sadly. "They will know soon enough. I am afraid it will be impossible to break the news gently."  
  
"We could offer you a position away from here if you so wished," offered Elizabeth as Darcy was directing the gathered footmen to carry Mr Metcalfe's body away.  
  
Miss Pope shook her head with a sad smile. "My position is secure. There will be talk, possibly even a scandal, which is why we had planned to have a wedding in front of our families and friends; I know Herbert told your husband this. What he apparently did _not_ tell him is that we are _already_ married."  
  
Elizabeth stared at her. "Did you elope?"  
  
"No!" said Miss Pope—Mrs Metcalfe—with a strangled laugh. "When should we have had the time for such an endeavour? Herbert bought a licence, and because he was still in deep mourning for his father, he asked that those who knew kept silent. We married here; the settlement was made by the same man who wrote the one for Mrs Lewis—my husband knew him from Cambridge—and the vicar was willing to re-marry us next spring." She sighed. "Of course, we did not anticipate that I could be pregnant so soon—you noticed this, did you not? We had to move forward our plans, and this is why we needed your advice."  
  
"If I may ask," said Elizabeth, "why so much secrecy?"  
  
"My mother-in-law had just lost her husband, and Herbert likes her too much to give her another shock so close to the first. Moreover, it will be difficult for her to be displaced by a former servant," she added with a sigh. "Mr Carpenter, the vicar, and Mr Averbury, the solicitor, will have to be apprised of the situation at once. All the others can wait: let us not wake them now, tomorrow will be early enough for the news."  
  
**Early in the morning, Thursday 29 January**  
  
The Darcys and Mrs Metcalfe had conferred before going to their beds, and it had been decided that the company would be told of Mr Metcalfe's death before breakfast, in the blue parlour. The butler received directives to that effect, which he would convey to each guest's personal servant. The room allocated to the meeting was easy to find, for Lady Metcalfe's laments could be heard from the hall—evidently, the news had leaked.  
  
"What shall become of us! Herbert liked us well enough and graciously kept us with him, but Hector will have us out of our home with barely more than the clothes on our backs. My poor daughters!"  
  
"The situation is not so dire," said Darcy on entering the room with Elizabeth and Miss—Mrs Metcalfe. Everyone else was present.  
  
Lady Metcalfe sniffed. "Of course it is! And why is Pope here? Are you leaving us, now that there is no guarantee your wages will be paid?"  
  
"The lady has some news. I believe that, once the shock wears off, you shall find it good."  
  
All eyes left Darcy and turned towards the children's governess.  
  
"I married Mr Metcalfe last spring, shortly after Sir Hubert died," she said.  
  
"You _what_? Have you any proof of this?" Lady Metcalfe cried.  
  
"You may ask Mr Carpenter for confirmation, as well as Mr Averbury."  
  
"Mr Averbury? Was he your witness?"  
  
"He was, but more than that, he was the one who wrote the settlement."  
  
"Oh. The settlement. I imagine this is the good news you are speaking about?"  
  
"Yes. Should Herbert die childless, he set enough money apart for me to live comfortably, and with your own jointure, we could set a joint household and continue to live together comfortably, though on a smaller scale. We shall not have to spend money on a governess," she added with a small smile.  
  
"This is better than I feared. I still wish we had not to leave the manor."  
  
"This may not happen," Mrs Metcalfe went on. "I cannot be certain yet, but I believe it is possible I am with child."  
  
"Are you? Oh, my dear child! But what if it is a daughter?"  
  
"Your late husband's will was clear: any child of Herbert, even female, would have priority over Hector. The property would be set in trust for the first male children of that line."  
  
"Do not stand! Take a seat. You must rest, you must take care. We shall need a new governess for the girls; you must not exert yourself!"  
  
"I believe Mrs Jenkinson might be available," Elizabeth interjected. That lady may not have been a very good companion for Anne de Bourgh, but she was a good governess, or would have been, had Lady Catherine allowed her to set a course of studies for her daughter.  
  
"Of course, of course! I shall ask Lady Catherine for her directions."  
  
**Monday 2 February**  
  
The Darcys had stayed at the express wish of Mrs Metcalfe, while the other guests had departed on Friday and Saturday after having expressed their condolences to the Metcalfe ladies. The Bingleys had been the last to leave, and Jane made Elizabeth promise that she would visit them at Netherfield or in London as soon as she could.  
  
Lady Metcalfe had wished to send to the papers both her son-in-law’s death notice and the notice of his marriage to the former Miss Pope. Elizabeth had dissuaded her of such a course of action, arguing that concealing the latter may help them to uncover the murderer of Mr Metcalfe.  
  
One day after the notice had been published, and one day before Mr Metcalfe was buried, his younger brother came to the manor.  
  
"Ah, Lady Metcalfe," he said on entering the drawing-room without paying attention to anyone else. "I shall not be so crass as to evict you and your daughters as soon as my brother's will is read; I shall give you one week after that. Will this suffice?"  
  
"You are too hasty, sir," a voice came from another part of the room. It was Elizabeth. "Nothing can be settled until we know for sure whether there is a child."  
  
"A child?" Mr Metcalfe said, amused. "I knew my brother was sweet on the governess, but I thought both she and him had better morals than that. Be that as it may, my father’s will was unequivocal: the manor cannot be passed to a bastard."  
  
"Who spoke about a bastard?"  
  
The question surprised him, and he could not conceal the emotions on his face. Astonishment, dismay—and rage. Unadulterated rage. And then, suspicion.  
  
" _You_ are not the governess."  
  
"Well done, sir,” she mocked. “Was my face unknown to you, or did the cut of my gown betray me?"  
  
"Who the hell are you?" he sneered.  
  
"The lady is my wife, and I should like it if you did not swear in mixed company."  
  
"Mr Darcy," Metcalfe said, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"So easily identified," said Elizabeth _sotto voce_. "It is a good thing stealth does not appeal to you. Dear."  
  
"What are _you_ doing here?" continued Metcalfe.  
  
“Officially, I was hunting. Unofficially, your late brother wished for my advice regarding the best way to make his wedding public.”  
  
“Bloody hell, who knew the prig could be so secretive!”  
  
“How accurate a profanity!” interjected Elizabeth. “You endangered your soul and will gain nothing earthly in return. I should have liked to know how and when you managed to poison the cordial?”  
  
“You would like to know? Pah! I shall leave you to wonder! As to _you_ ,” he said, throwing an venomous glare to the Metcalfe ladies, “do not rejoice so soon. Child-bearing and childbirth are by no means _safe_."  
  
He then all but ran outside, pushing out of his way one of the girls who had been playing on the steps and had come into the hall on hearing raised voices. The child's fall was softened by a chair, but she still screamed out of fright, making the adults rush out of the drawing room. As they did, another cry was heard, followed by a series of thumps. Lady Metcalfe and Mrs Metcalfe stayed with the little girl while the Darcy went to the door. Mr Metcalfe lay, unmoving, at the bottom of the stairs, a wheeled duck beside him.  
  
“That is Lucy's favourite toy,” said Mrs Metcalfe who had joined them. “Is he dead?”  
  
It turned he was not, but the apothecary predicted that he would never have the use of his body again.  
  
“This was unsatisfying,” Elizabeth sighed as they left the manor for London that afternoon.  
  
“There was no proof, Elizabeth,” her husband reminded her. “Even his confession could be dismissed—he could say he told us what we had wished to hear on the spur of the moment, without it being the truth. It would have been our word against his. At least he cannot harm anyone ever again.”  
  
A series of nurses and valets took care of Hector Metcalfe until his dying days, and he resented the fact he could not even complain about his stepmother and sister-in-law abandoning him to his fate, for _they_ were the ones who paid for his care. The ladies reasoned that if they had control of his servants, he would not have the means to make an attempt on the youngest Metcalfe's life. Mrs Metcalfe had given birth to a boy, and Lady Metcalfe and her daughters stayed at the manor, where they were joined by Miss Metcalfe until Lady Catherine, attentive neighbour that she was, found that young lady a husband.


	16. Case 14 - A Break in the Journey

  
  
**Late April 1813, on a road midway between London and Pemberley**  
  
The Darcys were on their way to Pemberley, along with half a dozen servants. In the carriage, Smith and Reynolds were discussing chemicals while Mrs Darcy was absorbed by a medical treatise. Mr Darcy, for his part, was looking at Mrs Darcy.  
  
The carriage slowed down, then stopped.  
  
The door opened.  
  
A stranger faced them, pistol in hand.  
  
“Good afternoon.”  
  
“Is this a robbery, a kidnapping?” Elizabeth Darcy asked, leaning forward while her frowning husband endeavoured to keep her from any potential harm.  
  
“None of it,” said the man, rolling his eyes. “The bridge has collapsed. You shall not pass, but there’s a ford upstream. Once you cross it, go towards the farm you’ll see on your left, and from there you’ll be able to go on with your journey.”  
  
“But your pistol?” she asked.  
  
“Oh, that? There’s no bullet inside, we use it as a signal; the lads at the farm know they’ll have to prepare for your arrival and direct you back to the main road.”  
  
Following the man’s instructions, the Darcys’ driver carefully engaged the coach on the riverside path. Elizabeth soon recovered from her disappointment, though her husband’s amusement at her reaction had yet to abate when they reached the announced ford, soon after the man had fired his pistol.  
  
As they crossed the river, something slammed into the coach’s wheels, jostling its passengers. Splashing and shouts were heard, but the coach itself stayed upright and the driver urged the horses on until they had finished crossing. Once they were on the other side, Darcy stepped down and went to inspect the carriage with his driver, a dripping wet footman trailing after them—the man had been sitting on the box and thrown down by the impact. He told them that a tree which had been carried by the stream had come on them just as they passed. The spokes of one wheel appeared to be cracked, but the axle did not seem damaged, and the driver elected to slowly make their way to the next posting inn. There, the damages would be more closely inspected while the gentleman and his wife would rest in appropriate accommodations. On reaching the nearby farm, the driver enquired about the most suitable inn for their purpose, after which an outrider was sent to book rooms for their party, and the carriage carefully followed.  
  
The drive had not been longer than two miles on good roads, but the damage to the wheel had dramatically increased by the time they arrived at the inn. After another look at the carriage, the driver deemed it necessary for them to stay a few days while full repairs were made.  
  
Darcy scowled on hearing of this delay, while Elizabeth was ecstatic.  
  
“Only think! We shall be in the common room”—here Darcy grumbled at the fact that the private parlours were currently full—“and adventure will come to us”—remembering an earlier nightmare, Darcy shuddered—“under the guise of a dead man who will stumble inside and mutter a couple of mysterious words before falling at our feet.”  
  
On looking at her husband, Elizabeth saw that he stared at her with a familiar exp ****ression; she soon remembered that _this_ was how he had been looking at her in Hertfordshire before Miss Bingley’s tragic death, a lifetime ago. He obviously objected to her ramblings, or perhaps she had some dust on her face. She frowned slightly, and this appeared to suffice to shake her husband out of his musings and spur him into speaking.  
  
“I am sorry to tell you this, Elizabeth, but dead men are not prone to speaking—at any volume. Being mute is one of their characteristics.”  
  
“Details!” she huffed, before turning to watch the door intently. Alas, no one came through it—or rather, no one of interest, for many ordinary travellers stopped while they were there, amongst whom some acquaintances of Darcy’s to whom she was introduced.  
  
The most interesting occurrence was the fact Darcy thought he had seen Mr Wickham walking down the street—which Elizabeth saw as proof that her husband had not quite let go of his obsession with his childhood friend.  
  
**The morning of the next day**  
  
The Darcys were having tea in the common room when a young girl ran through the door, came to crash into a table, and yelled: “He is dead!” before crumbling on the floor, sobbing.  
  
“I was right!” said Elizabeth smugly.  
  
“I do not see any dead man nor hear any mutterings, and those words were all but mysterious,” her husband countered.  
  
“Details!” she said, waving her hand. Darcy was momentarily distracted, fascinated by her capacity to pick up gestures from his aunt, Lady Catherine—though when Elizabeth did so, he found it far more endearing.  
  
The girl had now said enough, in a halting voice, for them to understand that the local solicitor had died.  
  
“May we go?” Elizabeth asked Darcy. “We are to be here for two days at least; we have all the necessary time to conduct our enquiries!”  
  
“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” he replied with a smile.  
  
Shortly afterwards, they found themselves at the lodgings of the man, which were above his office in a narrow building on the main street. The identification of the house was made easier by the handful of villagers who hovered by the open door. The Darcys entered, and Elizabeth went directly to the bedroom while her husband had a look at the man’s office. After a short examination of the room, in which nothing seemed out of place, he joined her as another man, who introduced himself as the local apothecary, was leaving. Darcy found Elizabeth looking at the body sprawled on the bed, and on seeing the face of the deceased, he could not hold back an exclamation.  
  
“Is something the matter?” his wife inquired.  
  
“I recognise that man, Elizabeth. We were at Cambridge at the same time.”  
  
“Was he one of your friends?” she said in a low voice.  
  
“One of Wickham’s,” he answered with a shake of his head.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Knowing this, I cannot help but think that it was actually Wickham whom I saw yesterday,” he went on, his eyes narrowing.  
  
Elizabeth looked at the man. The apothecary had not moved his body, for the reasons for his demise was apparent: a pistol in the right hand, a small hole on his right temple, and quite a messy trail on his left side, from his head to the wall via his pillow.  
  
“Do you believe he committed suicide after having been blackmailed by Mr Wickham—if your sighting of him was a reality?”  
  
“I am certain I _did_ see him, Elizabeth, and I think he may have murdered his former friend for some reason and then disguised it as a suicide.”  
  
"Darcy! I thought we had established that Mr Wickham was an _opportunist_ , not a murderer! Moreover, this is very clearly a suicide: the pistol is properly held in his hand, the angle of the entrance wound seems correct ... why would you believe otherwise?"  
  
"Come downstairs and have a look at his desk."  
  
Elizabeth frowned but complied. The desk was, as the room itself, neatly organised. There were letters in the right-hand corner, an inkpot in the left-hand one, and quills at the top.  
  
Her eyes went back to the ink and widened. "He appears to be left-handed, yet he held the pistol in his _right_ hand."  
  
"Yes. Is it not curious?"  
  
"Do you truly believe it to be significant? People can favour one hand for writing but another one for other activities."  
  
"I do not deny this, but in such cases they always use the right one for writing, because it reduces the risk of smearing the ink on the paper."  
  
Elizabeth frowned. “I suppose we ought to enquire about this, as well as to whether Mr Wickham was actually there yesterday.”  
  
That question, however, was answered as soon as they stepped out of the house, for amongst the still growing crowd they found the very gentleman they were about to look for.  
  
“Wickham,” said Darcy coldly. “Would you mind having some conversation with Mrs Darcy and me?”  
  
The man acquiesced and followed them to a side street. Darcy stopped when he thought they were far enough to not be overheard and, glaring at his former friend, spoke again in a controlled voice.  
  
“May I inquire for the reasons of your presence here?”  
  
“I could ask you the same question,” Wickham replied in a subdued tone with a shrug. “I merely happened to visit a friend, and I heard of his demise this morning. Is it true?”  
  
“It is,” Elizabeth said. “Did you see him yesterday?”  
  
“I did,” he answered. “Before Darcy here accuses me of anything, I want to say that he was alive when I left him.”  
  
“You do realise that I do not think your word has much value,” Darcy huffed.  
  
“The lovely Mrs Darcy thinks otherwise,” Wickham answered with a smile which did not reach his eyes and only made Darcy scowl. “I met Baker at Cambridge, he was the one who introduced me to high-stakes games. He was also the one who convinced me that I ought to study the law, but I found I liked the former better than the latter. In the end, he did not do well enough to be called to the bar, but he was happy enough to be a country attorney. I did not understand this, but I could respect it. We wrote to each other from time to time and since I was to travel through this area for my duties, he had suggested that I visited him."  
  
"You last saw him yesterday night?"  
  
"Yes as I told you," the man answered, seemingly bored. "And, as I also told you, I did not kill him."  
  
"He was alive when you left?"  
  
"Are you hard of hearing?"  
  
Elizabeth believed this answer had come after a slight hesitation and wondered at it.  
  
"Can someone confirm what you said?"  
  
"His housekeeper, I presume."  
  
"Thank you, Mr Wickham. That will be all," said Elizabeth, curtsying. Her husband, after having obtained from Wickham his directions, reluctantly bowed, and they made their way back towards the inn.  
  
"Why did you leave? He is lying, I am certain of it—and do not laugh at me this time!"  
  
"I would not dare, for I agree with you. Still, I do not believe he killed his friend."  
  
Darcy huffed. "So why would he be lying?"  
  
"I do not know yet. I should like to speak to the housekeeper."  
  
It turned out that Mr Baker had not exactly a housekeeper, but a maid-of-all works, the very girl who had burst into the inn’s main room earlier that day. They found her at her parents’ house, still sobbing. Elizabeth questioned her while Darcy listened, but they did not learn anything from her. Her employer had been as he always had, nothing had changed in his routine, and his death had been a shock.  
  
"She said nothing about Wickham," Darcy mused when they left.  
  
"Indeed, but I cannot decide whether she was his accomplice or merely ignorant about his coming."  
  
"You do not imply that _she_ could have killed him and Wickham helped her to cover it?"  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. "I—You are right, we must go back to Mr Wickham," she exclaimed. “Forget the maid, she probably knows nothing more than what she said.”  
  
They nearly ran to the house where Wickham had told them he had acquired lodgings. The militia officer was not there, but they were told he had gone to the inn, and indeed, there they found him.  
  
"Do you have other questions, Darcy?" he said with a sneer on seeing the couple approach.  
  
"He does not; I have. I want to see the notes and letters Mr Baker sent you."  
  
Wickham appeared surprised but did not object and bade them to wait while he went to retrieve his papers. Elizabeth put a hand on her husband's arm to prevent him from following his nemesis, earning herself a glare in the process.  
  
Darcy had elected to secure the private parlour, which had been empty at that time, and when Wickham came back with a portfolio, he joined them there and handed Elizabeth a dozen letters. She perused them before giving them to Darcy. Apart from the irony of seeing someone ask Wickham for monetary help, he saw nothing special in them and told Elizabeth so.  
  
"Precisely," she said smugly. "Now tell me again what is it you observed about letters written by left-handed persons."  
  
On hearing this, Wickham appeared definitely uneasy.  
  
"You mean that Wickham gave us letters written by another person?"  
  
"Oh no," said Elizabeth before the man could protest. "He gave us the right letters. Try again. That is, unless you have anything to add to your previous declaration, Mr Wickham?"  
  
"Can you not just say it was indeed a murder committed by an unknown person towards whom he had debts of honour?"  
  
"Mr Wickham," she said sternly.  
  
"Would either of you please enlighten me?"  
  
Wickham scowled, so Elizabeth took upon herself to speak.  
  
"Mr Baker was right-handed. It was indeed a suicide."  
  
"But the quills—oh! Did Wickham change their position to make us believe it was a murder?"  
  
"Precisely. I suspect that, when Mr Wickham came to visit his friend, he found him already dead."  
  
The man shook his head.  
  
“Not exactly. He was alive, but desperate—you saw his letters. He hoped that I could give him some money to tide him over and appease his creditors, but I did not have nearly enough for it to make any change to his situation. I left, promising him I would think about it and come back in the morning. In the middle of the night, I had an idea and came back to see him, but I was too late.”  
  
“What was this idea?”  
  
“Not one you would approve of,” Wickham said, his gaze shifting. “But it does not matter.”  
  
"If I may ask, sir, why did you move the inkpot?"  
  
"I wanted Baker to have a proper funeral."  
  
"This is surprisingly decent of you," Darcy acknowledged.  
  
"He was a friend," Wickham said with a shrug.  
  
A short silence followed, which Elizabeth broke.  
  
“We cannot take the risk of having any vagrant, or even you, Mr Wickham—yes, I mean it, dear, now quit that disappointed look—accused of murder when Baker took his own life.”  
  
“He has to be buried in consecrated ground. I shall confess that we fought and that I shot him in self-defence if I must!”  
  
“How chivalrous of you,” said Darcy, rolling his eyes. “Please do so. Ow!” The last was said after Elizabeth’s elbow connected with his ribs.  
  
“I think that we could have this ruled as an accident,” Elizabeth said. The two men looked at her dubiously.  
  
“He accidentally shot himself in the head?” Wickham said, raising an eyebrow. “Mrs Darcy, I do not think that—”  
  
“Did you share a drink yesterday night?”  
  
“We did, but I do not see—”  
  
“How many glasses?”  
  
“Two each, maybe three? Mrs Dar—”  
  
“There. We have it.”  
  
Wickham looked as if he disagreed, but Darcy had visibly caught with her train of thought. “That would be an unwise quantity of alcohol to drink alone.”  
  
“Quite,” she said with a nod.  
  
Wickham looked from one Darcy to the other.  
  
“Will someone explain to me where this is going?”  
  
“Accidental death,” Darcy said. “Your friend was obviously drunk and did not know what he was doing.”  
  
“I am certain the curate will not deny him a sepulture,” Elizabeth went on, “yet the story will not deviate too much from the truth. Would that satisfy you?”  
  
“I think so, Mrs Darcy. Old chap, your wife is a treasure,” he said with a wink—which had the predictable consequence to make Darcy scowl and Elizabeth roll her eyes.  
  
“Yes she is,” Darcy said in a clipped voice. “Now be kind and take yourself away. You may want to talk to the curate about those funerals.”  
  
“I shall have to warn my commanding officer that I will be delayed,” he said with a nod. “Would you mind arranging the ceremony with the parson? I would be grateful.” And, with these words, he left the parlour. Once the door closed behind him, Darcy huffed, and Elizabeth could not hold her laugh anymore.  
  
**The following day**  
  
The Darcy’s tale had been easily accepted, and Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham found themselves at the edge of Mr Baker’s grave. Once the service was over, Darcy turned to make his way back to Elizabeth, but he had not walked for long when he was hailed by his former childhood friend.  
  
“What now?” he said with a scowl.  
  
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. With such an unwelcoming face, I wonder how you endeared yourself to the pretty Mrs Darcy.”  
  
“Wickham—”  
  
“Calm down,” he said, raising his hands. “I only wanted to thank you and Mrs Darcy for your help in this matter.”  
  
A nod was Darcy’s only answer.  
  
“I would offer to become your eldest child’s godfather if I thought you would welcome this offer.”  
  
“I... shall keep that in mind,” Darcy answered tersely.  
  
“What? No angry dismissal? After the way you scowl whenever I talk to Mrs Darcy, I thought you would skin me alive for such a suggestion!”  
  
“Mrs Darcy has advised me to work on my manners, but if you would rather I react in another fashion …”  
  
“Not at all!” Wickham cried. “I had better pack—they repaired the bridge; the mail coach will arrive soon, and I must hop in it. Give Mrs Darcy my best!” And with a mocking wave, he was gone.  
  
Darcy’s glare followed Wickham until the man was out of sight, then his face turned thoughtful as he made his way back to his wife. Once he arrived at the inn, he was told that the coach had been repaired and tested to his driver’s satisfaction, and they left shortly afterwards for Pemberley. If he sat a little closer to his wife than he did on the first leg of their journey, nobody remarked on it.


	17. Case 15 - The Too Soon Forgotten Bride

  
**July 1813**  
  
May had come and gone without too much fuss, as had June, at least this was Elizabeth Darcy’s opinion. She and her husband had first spent about six weeks at Pemberley, where he had been closeted with his steward most of the time while she explored the park on foot. It was uncertain whether the displeasure of the Reynolds sisters—one having to deal with muddy petticoats and shoes, the other with muddy halls and carpets—was compensated by the pleasure they had in seeing each other again for a decent length of time. They were separated, however, when the Darcys travelled south in June. They spent some weeks at Netherfield, where Elizabeth assisted her sister for her lying-in, which had proven to be a rather messy process. While the sisters and Mrs Bennet had cooed over the newest Bingley, Reynolds absconded with the sheets, muttering something about a new formula she and Smith needed to test. The Darcys had then stayed for the christening of little Thomas, for whom they had been chosen as godparents. To the great displeasure of Reynolds, they were then to go west.  
  
**Thursday 16 July 1813, on a turnpike road in Dorset**  
  
The Darcys had been invited by a Colonel Brandon, whom they did not know personally. The gentleman was a friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam who, on learning that this gentleman had found himself in need of some help for what he called a _case of some delicacy_ , thought that his cousins might be in position to provide it. After letters had been exchanged, it was decided that the Darcys would travel to Delaford—one look at Elizabeth when that suggestion had first been made, and Darcy knew he could not refuse his wife the diversion. It _had_ been a long time since they had encountered any trouble, and though Darcy thought that spending more than a couple of days amongst the Bennets could qualify, he did not think that Elizabeth would be pleased with that classification.  
  
They arrived at Delaford barely one quarter of a mile after they had left the road. Elizabeth was at once delighted by the walled garden, in which she thought she saw a variety of fruit trees she meant to explore as soon as she could, which made Darcy tease her that none was likely to be poisonous.  
  
Elizabeth had speculated about the reason Colonel Brandon was worried. A stealing tenant, perhaps. Maybe a poaching neighbour. Perhaps, even, a young lady he was interested in was under the spell of a shady gentleman. At this, her husband had scoffed and demanded that she stop _that nonsense_. She laughed and protested against what she called his _high-handedness_ but nonetheless complied.  
  
They were warmly welcomed by Colonel Brandon, and then followed his housekeeper who led them to their rooms. Darcy, after a glance at the dressing room, scowled, which made Elizabeth hasten to the door and look at the room herself. The bedroom was large and boasted a sitting area, but the dressing room was little more than a closet. The small dressing table and small bed seemed to take all the available room.  
  
“You would never fit into that bed,” she said with a chuckle. “I guess I shall leave you the biggest room for a change—though maybe I shall need to borrow it in order to allow Reynolds to work without contorting herself.”  
  
After having refreshed themselves, the spouses joined Colonel Brandon in the drawing-room, where tea awaited them.  
  
Colonel Brandon apologised for not having given them more details in his correspondence. The matter, he said, did not concern him directly, and they would learn more about it after dinner, which Delaford’s vicar and his wife would attend.  
  
Mr and Mrs Ferrars were punctual, the dinner was faultless, and once they had retired to the drawing room, having forgone the separation of the sexes, the conversation began in earnest.  
  
"I do not know where to begin," said Mrs Ferrars. “I fear that my younger sister is about to make a most dreadful mistake.”  
  
She sighed, and after having thought a little, addressed Elizabeth again.  
  
"Have you heard of a Mr Willoughby?"  
  
Elizabeth shook her head, while her husband said: "John Willoughby? Did he not marry an heiress, Miss Grey, a couple of years ago?"  
  
"Yes,” the colonel said with a scowl. “His aunt died recently and left him her estate. It is in the neighbourhood—in Somersetshire, yet still close to here."  
  
“How is that linked to Miss Dashwood?” Darcy asked.  
  
“She must be taken in by him,” Elizabeth said, “and would not listen to what honour, decorum, prudence, or even interest would dictate.”  
  
"Indeed, she likes Mr Willoughby very well," Mrs Ferrars confirmed. "We all thought he had been courting her, and they appeared to be mutually enamoured with each other, and then he abandoned her for Miss Grey. His defection broke Marianne’s heart, and she was greatly ill afterwards. She has recovered since, but—"  
  
She stopped and wrung her hands, before taking a long breath.  
  
“I have some reasons to suspect that she may have been hoping, all along, that he would come back to her.”  
  
“Surely she would not think of ruining herself!” cried Elizabeth.  
  
“No, not at all! She _does_ have better sense than that, at least. You see, though Colonel Brandon and Mr Willoughby are far from friends, their estates are close enough for us to hear some news of him now and then, and we learned recently that Mrs Willoughby was very ill.”  
  
“Elinor fears that Marianne sees this as some sign that she and Mr Willoughby were meant to be.”  
  
“Do you fear that, should Mrs Willoughby pass away, Miss Dashwood will have her heart broken again?”  
  
“If that situation came to pass, I know not what I should fear more: that he raises her hopes only to crush her again, or that he marries her.”  
  
"How would that be a bad thing? Perhaps a little heartless, but there are worse things."  
  
“I am fairly confident that he will break her heart again in any case,” said Mrs Ferrars with a sigh. “I wish we could make her understand that she must stay away from that man, but no matter what we tried, she would not listen to us.”  
  
“I do not quite understand how we can be of help here,” Darcy interjected.  
  
“I am going there. On learning of your marriage, she deemed it the epitome of romance, and since Colonel Brandon had told us what his friend had told him about Mrs Darcy’s good sense, we hoped that you would be able to make Marianne see the situation more clearly.”  
  
“You see how the colonel could not write you this in a letter,” Mr Ferrars said. “Miss Dashwood is coming to visit us shortly—in truth, she ought to arrive tomorrow. Will you help us and caution her against any association with Mr Willoughby?”  
  
Elizabeth endeavoured to hide her disappointment. She did well enough, but she obviously did not fool her husband who merely smirked at her.  
  
“We shall do what we can,” he answered.  
  
**After everyone retired, the sitting area in Darcy’s bedroom**  
  
“It is a good thing that I have the colonel’s garden to look forward to,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “I thought I had left silly infatuated females behind me.”  
  
“Take heart, dear. Maybe you were right and our host _is_ hoping to win Miss Dashwood’s affections.”  
  
“She must be half his age!” she protested. “Moreover, did you see his waistcoat?”  
  
Darcy shrugged. “I cannot see what the cut of his waistcoat would change. As for her age, or even her silliness … may I remind you that the late colonel Forster acted in the same fashion?”  
  
“Maybe it would be interesting to study the marriage statistics of colonels and whether or not they are prone to make silly choices, but Miss Dashwood is no Mrs Forster. She is young and has her head easily turned by charmers. An older, unfashionably attired gentleman has no hopes of attracting her interest.”  
  
“But it does not preclude that _he_ would be interested in her. Who knows, he might even have his tailor make him new waistcoats because he thought it could help.”  
  
Elizabeth huffed. “Then he would be even more silly than she is.”  
  
“You have not even met her.”  
  
“I shall try to meet her with an impartial mind. Do you know more about Miss Dashwood or this Mr Willoughby?”  
  
“A little. I have met the Misses Dashwoods’ half-brother several times. I do not think much of the man; he all but disowned his stepmother and sisters after their father died. As for Mr Willoughby, he is one those dandies that one cannot help but notice.”  
  
"How long has Mr Willoughby been married?"  
  
"Two years, I think, maybe three. Miss Grey’s main attraction was her dowry."  
  
"Mr Darcy!"  
  
"I speak nothing but the truth," he said with a shrug. "Anyway, he had broken many hearts when he became engaged—"  
  
"As did you when we married," his wife said with a smile.  
  
"Not at all. I may not always be displeased with everything, but I can hardly be described as charming."  
  
"I am certain many a lady would disagree."  
  
"They find _Pemberley_ charming. To me, they merely do not object."  
  
"Poor dear."  
  
"Let us go back to Mr Willoughby. The man had no great fortune to himself and was—still is, perhaps—a bit of a flirt. He was set to inherit his aunt's estate, but for some reason, the lady found herself displeased with him, and, desirous to secure a fortune for himself, he turned all his charm towards Miss Grey. Many a lady was rumoured to be heartbroken about it; I think I recognised Mrs Ferrars from a party where she accompanied a lady who was cut by Mr Willoughby. The poor girl appeared dreadfully upset and I am sorry to learn that it led to her falling ill."  
  
“Is she the reason why Colonel Brandon appears to despise the man?”  
  
“You are still wishing he had a particular interest in the matter,” he said with a sigh. “I do not believe it to be the case; there was a rumour that the two of them fought at the same time over his mistreatment of the colonel’s ward.”  
  
“Oh. What more do you know about the Dashwoods and the Ferrars?”  
  
“About the Dashwoods, only what I already told you. As to the Ferrars, there was some talk about the family when the betrothed of the elder brother left him for the younger one.”  
  
“Mr Ferrars stole his brother’s betrothed? He seemed so honourable!”  
  
“He is; we met the elder Ferrars brother.”  
  
“Did we?” she said, frowning. “Why, then, has he a profession when he should be in line to inherit?”  
  
“His mother was in charge of distributing her husband’s inheritance between her sons how she saw fit. When she was displeased with her son’s choices, she bestowed all on the other.”  
  
“Oh.” Elizabeth stayed silent for some moments before asking: “Do you think that, perhaps, Mrs Willoughby’s illness might not be all that it seems?”  
  
“You only wish it to be so because it would make the situation less dull in your eyes,” Darcy answered, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Perhaps, but it does not make it less true. Her condition is a little _too_ convenient. As was Mrs Smith's death."  
  
Darcy groaned. “I suppose you will not rest before complete enquiries are done on the subject?”  
  
“You know me well,” she said with a bright smile. “Of course, it is a little late to begin doing so today. Will you discreetly ask Colonel Brandon what he knows about this? I am sure Smith and Reynolds will tell us the servant’s gossip on both matters.”  
  
“I think that we can persuade Miss Dashwood that Mr Willoughby would be detrimental to her happiness without painting him as a murderer.”  
  
“I only mean to paint him thus if it is _true_ ,” Elizabeth countered. “I wonder whether the apothecary who officiates at Mr Willoughby’s place is also in care of the population around Delaford.”  
  
“You would invent yourself an illness just to question the apothecary?”  
  
“Of course not!”  
  
“Then what—”  
  
“I have been married for more than one year and, as my mother reminded me last month, I am not yet expecting. I need all the advice I can gather.”  
  
“Especially since you constantly avoid your mother and sister whenever they try to share their wisdom with you.”  
  
“Hush.” On this word, Elizabeth gained her room.  
  
**Friday 17 July, Delaford**  
  
Before the Darcys joined their host at breakfast, they sent word to the local apothecary. Having learned that, Colonel Brandon enquired about his guests’ well-being and was promptly reassured. The conversation then drifted towards the Willoughbys.  
  
“I wonder if you could tell us more about Mrs Willoughby’s illness,” Elizabeth enquired. “Was it very sudden?”  
  
“As far as I can tell, she began to feel sick when they moved to Allenby, shortly after Mrs Smith’s death. Some said the climate did not suit her, others that she had been sickly before that, because her physician is not a local man. However, since it is well-known that Mr Willoughby and I are no friends, his people are wary to speak to my servants or to the Ferrars’. There may be gossip that I am not told about.”  
  
“Perhaps they shall speak to us,” Darcy mused, “since our acquaintance is so new that people might not already know about it, and our servants would be completely unknown.”  
  
“It could go one way or the other, but it would not hurt to try,” agreed Colonel Brandon.  
  
They would have to wait before enacting this idea, but the local apothecary did visit shortly afterwards. After listening to Elizabeth’s recitation, he gave her the reassurance she had asked of him:  
  
“No matter what your mother says, Mrs Darcy, these things can take time. Despair not, I am certain you will soon give your husband an heir.”  
  
Elizabeth looked intently at the rug in a seemingly modest manner.  
  
“You will find me very silly, sir,” she said once he had finished, “but I should like to have yet another opinion on the matter.”  
  
“I can give you the names of the local midwives.”  
  
“I had hoped that you would have known of people with a knowledge of modern medicine,” she said with what she hoped passed as a disappointed sigh.  
  
Perhaps the man was used to having patients needing to be given additional reassurance, or perhaps he merely thought that rich people did not live according to the same rules as the common folk, but in any case he answered her with a kind smile.  
  
“There is a physician in the area, a Mr Johnson, but I fear he may be too busy to visit here.”  
  
“Oh, why is that?”  
  
“He has come to look after Mrs Willoughby and has thus established his practice near Allenby. He does receive other patients, but he is frequently called to Mrs Willoughby’s bedside and cannot be too far from her at any moment. I shall leave you his directions if you so wish.”  
  
As soon as the apothecary was out of the room, Elizabeth drafted a letter to Mr Johnson. Weston was then sent to the man with a note. The man’s answer came promptly: he was, he wrote, too busy with Mrs Willoughby’s care to travel for the moment, but would be happy to either correspond with Mrs Darcy on the matter that preoccupied her or to see her in the future.  
  
Miss Dashwood had arrived that morning and it was decided that Delaford’s guests would call on the sisters on the morrow.  
  
**Saturday 18 July, the parsonage**  
  
Shortly before the Darcys took leave of their host, a note was sent to Delaford by Mrs Ferrars. They had, she said, an unexpected guest: Mr Willoughby himself, who had come to present his respects to Miss Dashwood as soon as he had learned she was in the neighbourhood. Elizabeth was as eager to at least see that infamous gentleman as she was to meet Marianne Dashwood, and the couple were soon on their way. Once they arrived at the parsonage, Mrs Ferrars introduced them to the two other people present in her drawing room, and in the conversation which followed, Mr Willoughby promptly confirmed that he had indeed come to see Mrs Ferrars’s sister.  
  
“I had it from Mr Johnson, and it would have been neglect on my part if I had not welcomed Miss Dashwood into the neighbourhood,” he said with a smile in the direction of that lady before he turned towards the Darcys again. “I met Mrs Ferrars and her sister when they were in Devon, you know, and we had become quite good friends. Mrs Ferrars was still Miss Dashwood then, of course.”  
  
“I gather that Mrs Willoughby fares better, then?” asked Elizabeth.  
  
“Alas,” he declaimed in a somber tone. “She is worse today than she was yesterday. I fear I shall soon lose Sophia to her illness; the physician tells me that there is nothing he can do for her anymore.”  
  
“Poor Mrs Willoughby,” sighed Miss Dashwood while her brother frowned and her sister glared. “Such a tragedy to have her so cruelly parted from you!”  
  
She may have been on the verge of declaiming some sorrowful poetry, in which Mr Willoughby certainly would have joined, when Elizabeth’s dry voice was heard.  
  
“I am sure Mr Willoughby must concur with you.”  
  
All eyes turned towards Mrs Darcy.  
  
“Do you not? After all, it seems that Fate _is_ being especially cruel towards you, sir. First your aunt, now your wife? Oh, and pray remind me why you rushed to Delaford instead of making the most of your remaining time with her?”  
  
“I had thought that having Miss Dashwood’s visit might cheer her up.”  
  
“I am sure I would _love_ it if my husband brought to my deathbed a lady he courted before we met,” Mrs Ferrars said in a voice which would not have been out of place to discuss the weather.  
  
A silence settled on the drawing-room.  
  
“What exactly ails your wife, Mr Willoughby?” Elizabeth asked when it was clear that the other three would speak no more.  
  
“Alas, Mr Johnson could not tell me. She complains about her head and is subject to swoons, but none of his treatments could improve her health,” was the answer.  
  
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, before she forced her face to relax. _This_ sounded suspiciously like a slow arsenic poisoning.  
  
“Do you think Mrs Willoughby would welcome my visit?” she asked sweetly, which drew astonished glances from the sisters and a sharp one from her husband.  
  
“My dear Mrs Darcy,” Mr Willoughby said, “I am sure she would be delighted. But I have already been away from her for too long: though she has entreated me to be an agreeable neighbour to all despite her sad circumstances, I cannot, in good conscience, linger too long here.”  
  
He was soon on his way back to Allenby, leaving a relieved Mrs Ferrars, thoughtful Darcys, and a dreamy Miss Dashwood in the drawing room.  
  
**That evening, in Darcy’s bedroom**  
  
"No wonder Mrs Ferrars seemed both furious and protective of her sister. Had Mr Bingley deserted Jane, _I_ would certainly not be pleased to see him come back as if nothing had happened. The nerve of that man!”  
  
“His lack of grieving troubled me. I was reminded of Mrs Forster.”  
  
“And Miss Dashwood! I would swear that Lydia has more sense!”  
  
“Now _that_ is low, dear.”  
  
“But true:  Mrs Willoughby is at death’s door, and Miss Dashwood appears to think that her husband’s interest in herself is _flattering_!”  
  
“He does seem quite the tragic hero.”  
  
“Ha! When he could well have been poisoning his wife all along!”  
  
“We have no proof of this, Elizabeth.”  
  
“But none of the contrary!”  
  
Darcy raised his hands.  
  
"I grant you that. Mrs Willoughby’s illness seems too convenient to be natural, but nothing that Smith, Weston, or Reynolds have been told by the servants has been of any help.”  
  
“We shall visit that physician as soon as we can.”  
  
“Your wish is my command, Mrs Darcy.”  
  
“I see only one solution: we have to go to Allenby. Who knows, perhaps we shall find Mr Wickham there.”  
  
"Elizabeth! I concede that it is doubtful the man could be involved, yet I shall be prepared should he happen to be nearby; though to be honest I would have suspected his involvement in this had _Mr_ Willoughby be in some danger—”  
  
He narrowed his eyes.  
  
“You are teasing me!”  
  
“Of course I am,” she answered with a laugh. “Did you not do the same thing just before?”  
  
**Monday 20 July, Mr Johnson’s practice**  
  
The Darcys could not reasonably come up with a reason to travel on a Sunday. Mrs Willoughby had been sick for months, and one day or two of delay would probably not change her situation much, or so they hoped. Mr Johnson was at home and his housekeeper promptly led the Darcys to a small parlour. Soon, they were joined by the man himself.  
  
“Mrs Darcy, Mr Darcy, welcome! How fortuitous that you called today!”  
  
Husband and wife exchanged an uneasy glance.  
  
“Fortuitous, you said?”  
  
“Yes,” Mr Johnson answered, his countenance turning more solemn. “I planned to leave after the funeral. Poor Mrs Willoughby died yesterday before dawn.”  
  
Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. Darcy put a hand on her shoulder and whispered: “We would have come too late in any case, Elizabeth. Our waiting one more day would not have changed her fate.”  
  
She nodded shakily, as the physician apologised.  
  
“I am sorry, I ought to have remembered that a lady of your station would be too delicate to withstand such news if they were not shared with tact. May I offer you something? A glass of wine, perhaps?”  
  
Elizabeth shook her head. She then drew another breath, and enquired: “How did she die?”  
  
Mr Johnson glanced at Darcy, who nodded, before he answered.  
  
“She was sickly, and in the end, her heart simply failed.”  
  
Elizabeth gently nudged her husband, who easily took her meaning: “Surely it must have been more than that; we heard she had been sick for a while.”  
  
“Yes, yes. She did not have much of an appetite and was very delicate, prone to swoons and headaches. It must have been the heart: her pulse was low, irregular.”  
  
“How long have you been here?”  
  
“I arrived only a couple of weeks ago, when Mr Willoughby bade me to come. He was very worried for his wife, and the events proved him right.”  
  
“Did you know Mrs Willoughby before?”  
  
“No, it was the first time I met her.”  
  
“How did you know that she was a sickly woman, then?” asked Elizabeth.  
  
“Mr Willoughby told me, of course,”  the man answered with a condescending smile.  
  
“Poor woman,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “Did she suffer from any other troubles?”  
  
Mr Johnson shrugged. “She was confused, but of course, with her weakness, that was not surprising. She did not quite see the colours as we did either.”  
  
“How so?” Elizabeth asked, opening her eyes wide.  
  
“She was convinced that most of what she saw had a yellow or green tinge, and she saw blue around lights.”  
  
Darcy was observing his wife and saw the exact moment where she had reached some conclusion. She did have the most expressive eyes.  
  
“But you did not come here to hear me ramble about poor Sophia Willoughby,” Mr Johnson continued. “Your letter indicated that you had questions of a delicate nature?”  
  
Elizabeth intently looked at the rug, for it made it easier to lie, and mumbled a couple of sentences regarding the fact that she had been married for more than one year and had begun to worry about her capacity to give her husband an heir. Mr Johnson gave them the usual reassurances she expected, and they were soon out of he house.  
  
“What now?” said Darcy once they had exited the house.  
  
“I think it is time to pay Mr Willoughby a condolence call.” She instructed their coachman to drive them to Allenby and climbed into the carriage, Darcy quickly following her.  
  
“What did you conclude?” Darcy asked once they were settled.  
  
“Mr Johnson’s descriptions were clear: they do fit digitalis poisoning. I _must_ see the gardens at Allenby.”  
  
“If it is so clear to you, how do you explain that he did not even suspect it?”  
  
“He is a _physician_ ,” Elizabeth said, as if it explained everything. On seeing her husband’s lost gaze, she added “Apothecaries or surgeons are often much more knowledgeable than these charlatans. You heard him: Mr Willoughby told him that his wife had a history of chronic illness, and he simply believed him. From his point of view, her condition merely worsened with time.”  
  
Darcy sighed.  
  
"How could we _prove_ she was poisoned, though? Even if we found a way, how can we prove that Mr Willoughby is the one responsible, or even that it was no accident?"  
  
"We shall have to trick him into revealing himself.”  
  
"We have done this before, and it worked, but I cannot see how it can be done now."  
  
"We shall have Smith and Weston question the servants.”  
  
“Why do you suppose that they would reveal anything?”  
  
“Maybe the fact we could be of some help to secure another employ could induce one to confide in us.”  
  
"True, but then we shall have to count on luck when we speak about what such a person could have seen, for it could be argued that he or she would merely tell what we wanted to hear. I should prefer it if we found another way."  
  
“Which is why we ought to focus our endeavours on Mrs Willoughby, for her death is the most recent one.”  
  
“What do you imply?” said Darcy with a frown.  
  
“I cannot help but wonder that Mrs Smith might have been the man’s first victim, his way to test his process.”  
  
**At a proper hour for calls, at Allenby**  
  
The couple was not unhappy to have an easy way to engineer a way to call on Mr Willoughby and thus discreetly question his staff. All could not be done by themselves, of course, but Weston could be trusted, and it would be easy to find a reason to have Smith accompany them. Reynolds was missing, but between Weston and Elizabeth, Darcy was confident that some of the tales shared by the female staff would reach them. They were soon in front of the house, and Elizabeth followed her husband out of the carriage while he gave his card to the butler.  
  
They were surprised when, instead of being led in a drawing room, they were met by the master of the house in person, displaying gloom, bereavement, and quoting some silly sonnet. Mr Willoughby surprised them further when he suggested that they took a turn in the gardens. Mrs Willoughby, he said, had loved them.  
  
Elizabeth admired them all. The orangerie, the kitchen garden, the rose garden which, Mr Willoughby informed them with a sad sigh, Sophia Willoughby planted but did not live long enough to admire.  
  
Darcy was diverted by his wife’s genuine admiration of the place, though neither he nor she were remiss in their self-appointed task, and they soon identified a beautiful clump of digitalis.  
  
Elizabeth had a pensive look on the way back, and as Mr Willoughby went to an arriving carriage, she raised on her toes to whisper in Darcy’s ear.  
  
"We _will_ have to learn more about the manner in which Mrs Smith died."  
  
He nodded.  
  
**Later, Delaford**  
  
The parsonage inhabitants had been invited for tea at Delaford, and as the Darcys came back at about that time, they shared with all the news of Mrs Willoughby’s death. Predictably, everyone but Miss Dashwood appeared worried. That lady, however, only displayed distress at the thought of such a tragic end, leaving such a young man all alone in the world.  
  
Darcy had been scoffing discreetly, more discreetly than the colonel at least, but when Elizabeth drily commented on the unlikeliness that such a situation would last, for after all, he was now a single man in possession of a good fortune, a strangled sound came from his vicinity.  
  
Miss Dashwood insisted that she would present her condolences in person, thus it was decided that the ladies, accompanied by Mr Darcy, would call at Allenby on the morrow.  
  
**That evening, Darcy’s room**  
  
Once they had retired, the gentleman wordlessly gave his wife a glass of port before pouring one for himself. They sat in silence for a handful of minutes.  
  
“Am I the only one who believes that much of that … drama would be avoided if only her family kept Miss Dashwood in check?” he eventually said.  
  
“You are not, Darcy dear. Alas, the fact is that they do not. Or maybe they tried, but found it to be ineffective.”  
  
“She is well-behaved and knowledgeable, but her sensibility has been given free rein. They ought to have burned all her novels and poetry books.”  
  
“You cannot be advocating such a thing.”  
  
“True. They still ought to have taken them away, and perhaps sold them in order to provide her with a sensible governess. I shudder at the thought to be subjected to more of this tomorrow.”  
  
“Yet you volunteered to accompany us,” Elizabeth reminded him with a smile.  
  
“Only because I think we ought to tell Mr Willoughby that he has been found out. We had not the time to scheme properly today, but he will not escape justice.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Alas, I do not yet know how to go about this. Do you have something in mind?”  
  
“Apart from telling him he has been found out? Not really. I hope his reaction will betray him, and perhaps Miss Dashwood will at least have her eyes opened and stay away from him, which in turn may lead him to act rashly.”  
  
Darcy shrugged. “It cannot hurt to keep that possibility in mind, yet it relies too much on chance.”  
  
They spoke some more and explored several possibilities until Darcy noticed that his wife was all but falling asleep on her seat.  
  
“Dear, if you do not wish for me to carry you to your bed, you should leave now,” he told her while gently shaking her.  
  
“It would not do to have you hurt your back, and Reynolds would be put out with me if I slept in my gown,” she answered in a sleepy voice. “Until tomorrow, Mr Darcy.”  
  
**Allenby, Tuesday 21 July**  
  
When they arrived, the party of four was shown into the drawing room. The Darcys noticed that Mr Willoughby had perfected his grieving widower demeanour and was slightly more convincing than he had been the day before—only slightly, because his condition did not prevent him from making eyes at Miss Dashwood. The lady looked alternately pleased and embarrassed, whereas Mrs Ferrars glared at Mr Willoughby and frowned at her sister. The Darcys shared a glance, and at a small nod from Elizabeth, Darcy spoke.  
  
“Did you need those fifty thousand pounds so much, Mr Willoughby?”  
  
“He did need them while he was not assured of inheriting from his aunt, dear.”  
  
“You are right as always, Mrs Darcy. Of course, now he has both.”  
  
“And without the inconvenience of being attached to anyone.”  
  
“What is the meaning of this?” shouted Mr Willoughby.  
  
“You ought to know, sir.” Elizabeth said. “I am astonished that Miss Dashwood does not question your current behaviour. Tell me, do you plan to send her to an early grave when you tire of her?”  
  
Miss Dashwood gasped, Mrs Ferrars paled, and their host reddened.  
  
“Leave at once, or else—”  
  
“Are you _threatening_ me?”  
  
“You are slandering me!”  
  
“Mrs Darcy is only telling how things appear to be,” Darcy said. “First, Mrs Smith dies shortly after you had reconciled—and she had drawn up a will in your favour again. By then, of course, you were married, but you had not quite forgotten Miss Dashwood.”  
  
“Had Mrs Smith died earlier and thus secured your inheritance, you would have been free to pursue her, but now Mrs Willoughby had become an obstacle in your plans.”  
  
“It cannot be!” cried Miss Dashwood.  
  
“What exactly are you implying?” said the young man seated by her.  
  
“I am _asserting_ that, though you may or may not have been the cause of your aunt’s death, you _are_ responsible for that of your wife.”  
  
“We have evidence for that,” Elizabeth said, interrupting whatever justification Willoughby was about to offer. “One of the under gardeners told us that you made some modifications to the plans Mrs Willoughby made for the garden.”  
  
“And why, pray, is that relevant?” cried Miss Dashwood as Mr Willoughby paled.  
  
“This little detail proves that Mrs Willoughby’s poisoning was deliberate, not an accident. You see, he wanted to be certain to have digitalis leaves on hand. Or roots, or flowers—any part of the plant would do, really. Oh, and when you add the symbolic meaning of foxgloves, we are as far as possible from anything romantic.”  
  
“Insincerity,” said a pale Marianne. Elizabeth felt almost sorry for the girl.  
  
“I do sincerely love you!”  
  
“But you did not love Mrs Willoughby, and this is the material point,” Darcy retorted.  
  
“Moreover,” said Elizabeth, “it was very presumptuous of you to resume your courtship of Miss Dashwood while your wife was still breathing.”  
  
“Lies!”  
  
“May I remind you that we all shared a drawing room last Saturday?”  
  
His lips thinned. Miss Dashwood, apparently horror-stricken, made a show of leaving the settee and throwing herself in her sister’s arms.  
  
“You have gone too far, sir. I do not care to hear my integrity thus challenged. I shall meet you tomorrow at dawn.”  
  
To this, Darcy only nodded. Elizabeth’s hands went clammy.  
  
“What were you thinking!” she hissed as soon as she and her husband had some privacy.  
  
“We went over this earlier, Elizabeth,” he said in a reasonable tone of voice which only infuriated her further. “The proofs against him are not strong enough. This may be the only way to make Mr Willoughby pay for his wife’s murder.”  
  
“Yet _you_ take the risk to die or to be judged for _his_ murder instead!”  
  
“If it comes to that, I am sure Uncle Earl will find me the best barrister. Besides, _I_ was challenged. I shall aim for his shoulder.”  
  
“I still do not like it.”  
  
“You would not like it either if we let him run free.”  
  
“And we do not have enough evidence to prevent this,” she said, defeated.  
  
**Allenby, Wednesday 22 July**  
  
More than the principal players had come. Willoughby was there with a couple of friends, amongst whom was his second. Colonel Brandon had volunteered to be Darcy’s. Mr Ferrars and Mr Johnson were present as well—the latter had, on hearing of the duel, decided to leave later than he had planned. Though Darcy had insisted it would be unseemly for her to be present, Elizabeth had come, first arguing that there was no reason she would allow him to go into danger alone when she was forbidden the same, then threatening to dress as a boy again. Her husband relented after she promised to stay by their coachman.  
  
Once they arrived, though, he did not follow the other men who went to meet with Willoughby’s party. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and was about to enquire about this delay, when he surprised her by lightly kissing her on the lips.  
  
“What—”  
  
“We have an image to maintain, dear,” he said with a wink.  
  
She did not have the time to react: he was already joining the others.  
  
“Will you retract your words, Darcy?” Mr Willoughby said when he was close enough.  
  
“Why should I? We both know that you did kill your wife. I merely own I am not certain about your aunt.”  
  
One of Mr Willoughby’s friends gasped, and the duel would have begun shortly afterwards had Mr Johnson not interrupted them.  
  
“What do you mean by that? Is that the reason why you came to question me about Mrs Willoughby’s illness?”  
  
“Indeed,” Darcy said. “Mr Willoughby took care to call for you, who did not know Mrs Willoughby before, so he could tell you she had always been sickly and you would not question that her symptoms were remarkably similar to those of digitalis poisoning.”  
  
Johnson’s eyes widened. Willoughby’s second suddenly looked a bit ill. The challenger, though, only pinched his lips.  
  
The usual proceedings took place, and the gentlemen shot. Mr Willoughby’s bullet took off his opponent’s hat, Mr Darcy’s did not reach the shoulder he had aimed for. Suddenly, there was blood on Willoughby’s cravat. A lot of blood.The gentleman crumpled on the ground.  
  
“The carotid,” whispered Elizabeth who had rushed to Darcy’s side. They made their way together to where Mr Willoughby had fallen. Mr Johnson came forward, hoping to help, but he could do nothing other than confirm her hypothesis: Mr Darcy’s bullet had grazed his opponent’s neck, and, by a stroke of bad luck, damaged that blood vessel. Trying, against all hope, to stop the bleeding, the physician took off his cravat and ordered Darcy to press it to the wound.  
  
“I guess it would have been wiser to confess,” Mr Willoughby said in a whisper. “Tell Mar—”  
  
He had fainted. Mr Johnson endeavoured to ligature the artery, and for one moment they thought Mr Willoughby might recover. Alas, he must have lost too much blood already: one minute later, despite their best efforts, the gentleman was dead.  
  
“Perhaps,” said Willoughby’s second after a minute, “we ought to say that he took his own life or that it was an accident.”  
  
“I would not mind the former,” said Elizabeth.  
  
“It would not be the truth,” Darcy objected. He was trembling slightly.  
  
“Close enough,” she countered. “He was the one who issued the challenge while knowing he was in the wrong. I call this Divine justice.”  
  
“I think the explanation of an accident would be easily accepted,” said Mr Johnson, at which Mr Willoughby’s second nodded.  
  
Both Darcys left the field somewhat shaken. For all the gruesomeness they had encountered, it was the first time that _he_ took a life, however involuntary it had been on his part—as Elizabeth had reminded them, he had not even been the one to call for the duel. As for his wife, she had been more disturbed than she would have thought by the hole in her husband’s hat.  
  
There was no reason for the Darcys to linger in the area. Smith and Reynolds had already packed their belongings, and they left Colonel Brandon after breakfast, only stopping to the parsonage to say their goodbyes to a relieved Mrs Ferrars and a dejected Miss Dashwood.  
  
“Do you think it will be very long before the colonel proposes to Miss Dashwood?” Darcy mused as they went past the turnpike.  
  
“Still that ridiculous notion!” Elizabeth scoffed. “I wonder how such ideas come into your mind.”  
  
Half a year later, a quite vexed Mrs Darcy was forced to recognised that her husband might have seen something that had escaped her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t read Sense and Sensibility in a long time, and I’m not even sure I actually ever read the English version -- the references to the novel’s characters thus stem both from my vague memories and from the various tête-à-tête threads about them. I found it Convenient to use them, though, mostly because I don’t need to think about explaining the background of characters who will soon be dispatched ... er, I mean, probably not reappear. As a result the cast may be slightly more OOC than usual, if you care about those things.
> 
> Also, I know next to nothing about duels outside of what I read in JAFF and a couple of interesting discussions on the matter that I didn’t re-read before writing this. I hope that it wasn’t too outlandish (or, if it was, that you managed to suspend your disbelief!)


End file.
